


The Broken Wall

by TaraSoleil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, It's only a book, Possession, hella evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 78,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraSoleil/pseuds/TaraSoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only a book.<br/>No harm ever came from reading a book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistaken Identity

The sound of the old man’s flat feet slapping hard on the stone floor echoed through the corridor and alerted the black-haired boy to his approach. The boy pushed up his glasses with a grin. The chase was always the best part. He waited until he could hear the labored breathing then ran. The old man turned the corner and he saw the boy halfway down the corridor.

“Potter,” Filch wheezed. He hurried down the hall. Through the sound of his own breathing and his feet hitting the floor, he could make out the sound of the boy running ahead of him. He also heard the boy laughing. Ducking into a secret passage, Filch cursed the students and hurried around the bend and up the stairs. He appeared as if by magic in the corridor just in front of Harry Potter. “Got you this time, boy!”

“What?” Harry squirmed in Filch’s grip but couldn’t pull free.

“Thought you could get away with it, eh?” He marched Harry back the way the boy had come, straight to the Headmaster’s office. Any protest the boy made fell on deaf ears and Filch threw him into the chair before the Headmaster with surprising strength for a man as seemingly frail as he was.

“What appears to be the problem, Argus?” Albus Dumbledore asked with interest.

“Caught Potter red-handed, I did,” Filch said with triumph. “He was breaking into the storeroom on the third floor.”

“I was not!” Harry protested, Filch just sneered.

“I’m afraid, Argus,” Dumbledore said and the caretaker’s face fell, “Harry could not have been the student you saw. He has been in private lessons with me since six this evening.”

Filch shook his head. “No, Professor, there’s no mistaking it. It was Potter. I saw the hair and the glasses and the strut.”

“I do not strut!” Harry was sick of the crabby old caretaker and Potions Master insisting he strut about the school as his father had. Of all the things Harry had inherited, a cocky strut was not one of them.

“Quite right, Harry,” Dumbledore assured him. “You may return to your dormitory.”

Harry stood and demonstrated just how much he did not strut as he walked from the office. Argus remained to argue with the headmaster. There was no other boy at Hogwarts that looked like Harry; it had to have been him.

The sixth year boy walked through the corridors toward his dormitory. He had been with Dumbledore looking at a memory of Tom Riddle’s mother. It was their first lesson and it had certainly not been what Harry had been expecting, which he should have expected since he was dealing with Professor Dumbledore. The crafty old Headmaster was always surprising, and not always in a good way when it came to Harry and his destiny.

He knew the old adage that ‘knowledge is power’ but he found it hard to believe that a few memories about the family and life of Voldemort could yield enough knowledge to help defeat him. Now he had Filch accusing him of stealing on top of his confusion, and his bloody cat shadowing him through the corridors.

“Go away!” Harry told the cat. She didn’t listen. She never did.

His Godfather told him a story of how Harry’s dad had once charmed the cat to think there was a dog barking whenever it came near him or his friends. The cat would leap into the air and run for cover, allowing James and the Marauders to play whatever mischief they intended without worry of the cat bringing her master down on them. Harry would have liked to learn that charm. He wasn’t one for mischief, but he was often forced to break the school rules to do the right thing.

But Sirius was dead and with him died Harry’s hope of a family and all the man’s memories of Harry’s father. They had spent so little time together.  It was all Voldemort’s fault. Harry hated that wizard. He took Harry’s parents, his home and now his Godfather, too. He wanted nothing more than to see that evil bastard gone from this world.

Someone, a boy by the sound of it, laughed loudly just around the corner. The cat ran ahead of him and disappeared around the bend. Mrs Norris, the cat, wouldn’t have left Harry if the boy who laughed wasn’t someone far more troublesome. He hurried to the end of the corridor and turned left, too, trailing the cat as she had him. Her fluffy tail was easier to follow than the Golden Snitch on a sunny day. It bobbed around corners and through hidden passages. The cat was fast, but so was Harry. So, apparently, was the boy Mrs Norris was after. Harry could hear the boy running and laughing, always just up ahead or around a corner.

In the long corridor that ran the length of the school from North Tower to South, Harry finally saw the boy. He had tripped over a suit of armor that was migrating from one side of the hall to the other and had fallen onto the stone floor. Mrs Norris was on him in an instant. Harry was a bit behind her. The boy sent the cat flying with a wave of his wand.

“Bloody cat,” he muttered and stood to dust himself off. He stopped when he saw Harry and studied the approaching sixth year with a cocked eyebrow and tilted head.

Harry was confused. The boy looked just like him. He wore glasses and wild black hair. His Gryffindor uniform was slightly loose because he was as skinny as Harry was. If Harry had a brother, he would look like this boy. But as Filch said, there were no boys at Hogwarts who looked like Harry.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, slightly out of breath from the jog and the shock.

“I could ask the same thing,” he replied, sounding very much like Harry, only far more confident. He walked forward with a distinct swagger to his step.

“You could, but I asked first.” Harry said.

“Very mature, kid,” the boy smirked.

“Who are you?” Harry demanded. “You don’t go here.”

“Do so. Have for five years, but I’ve never seen you before.”

“I could say the same thing,” Harry stole the boy’s words, which made him smirk again.

They both jumped as a loud crashing noises came from down the corridor. Someone, most likely Filch, collided with another of the wandering suits of armor. He was much closer than Harry would have expected.

“Shit!” the boy cursed. “I’ll finish with you later, kid.” He pointed at Harry and took off running. Harry wanted to follow, but he had already been accused by Filch once tonight and didn’t care to have it happen again. If he were caught Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to vouch for him this time. He ran in the opposite direction, back toward his dormitory.

It was late when Harry finally made it back to Gryffindor tower, where his friends were waiting to hear how his first lesson went. They had all expected him to be learning secret spells, not diving into old memories. As interesting as it all was, Harry was far more intrigued by the sudden appearance of a boy who looked and sounded almost identical to him. This boy, whoever he was, was going to get Harry into serious trouble.

“I bet it’s Malfoy,” Ron said.

“How do you reckon?” asked Harry.

“The way I figure it,” Ron said slowly. “You-Know-Who wants you dead, but when you’re at school he can’t touch you. We know Malfoy is up to something, something big and something for You-Know-Who. What if his plan is to get you expelled so that You-Know-Who can come and get you?”

Harry didn’t like the sound of that. “How does that boy fit with that?”

“Polyjuice Potion obviously,” Ron said. “He found some bloke that looks just like you, stole his hair and is running around the school getting you in trouble with Filch.”

“Maybe…” Harry considered it. “What do you think, Hermione?”

He looked up from his seat on the carpet and saw Hermione’s nose stuck in her book. It wasn’t unusual, but she normally spared them some attention. Now that he thought about it, she had been uncharacteristically quiet while he told them about his private lesson with Dumbledore, too. She had read through everything he said.

“Hermione!” he shouted.

The girl jumped and nearly dropped her book. She looked around, confused, and saw him sitting on the carpet by her feet. “When did you get back?”

“An hour ago. Where’ve you been?” Ron asked.

“Oh,” she looked between them and saw they weren’t joking. “I was just reading.”

“We noticed,” Harry said.

“Well, it’s a dreadfully fascinating book,” she said quietly. “I didn’t expect much with it being a Muggle book and all, but it’s quite amazing. Like folktales.”

“Did you hear anything I said?”

She bit her lip, embarrassed. “No. But I’m listening now!”

Harry sighed and went through the whole night start to finish again. She, like Harry, was equally as intrigued by the boy who wasn’t Harry. She demanded he describe the boy’s appearance in exact detail, especially how he differed from Harry. That was a short list of features, as really only the color of his eyes, the shape of his nose and his confidence (‘a damn cocky git’ were Harry’s exact words) were different; everything else was the same as far as Harry could tell. Hermione knit her brow in thought, but could come up with no explanation better than Ron’s.

That ought to have been the first clue that something strange was happening at Hogwarts.

“We’ll just have to keep watch on Malfoy,” Hermione said.

“We already are!” Ron reminded her in a very annoyed tone.

“I mean specifically tomorrow,” she sighed. “If he’s extremely pleased with himself tomorrow at breakfast, then we know it was him or one of his goons under the Polyjuice Potion.”

“It would have been him,” Harry said with absolute certainty. “Crabbe and Goyle don’t strut.”

 

 


	2. A New Face

Harry kicked Ron awake early the next morning and made sure they were at breakfast before a single Slytherin sat down. He didn’t want to miss Malfoy. Hermione was already in the Great Hall, which was no surprise to them; she was always first to rise in the Gryffindor tower. She was sitting at the end of their table nearest the entrance, giving her the best seat to watch for Malfoy’s arrival.

“Harry,” she said. “I thought we’d spread out. That way no matter where Malfoy sits we’ll be able to see his face.”

“Unless he sits with his back to us,” Harry pointed out.

The brainy Gryffindor frowned, “Oh… well, there is that. But he never sits with his back to the Gryffindor table.”

“There’s always a first time,” Ron said and went to the far end to sit in the shadow of the high table, where the professors would be taking their breakfast. Harry sat in between. To the rest of the students it would look as if they had a falling out, but they didn’t care about gossip when Harry’s wrongful expulsion was a possibility.

The students filed in and sat down at their house tables. The three Gryffindors watched the Slytherins with intense eyes, waiting for the pale Draco Malfoy to show his face. He strolled into the Great Hall flanked, as always, by his burly sidekicks Crabbe and Goyle. To Hermione’s eye he didn’t look any more pleased with himself than normal. Even as he walked past Harry, he didn’t show any sign of a plan successfully laid. He sat close to the center of the Slytherin table and Hermione could no longer see his face. She would have to move.

“Is this seat taken?”

She glanced at the place on the bench beside her, “No.”

“Good.” A boy, tall and broad-chested enough to be in his seventh year, slid into the seat sideways, straddling the bench, to face Hermione. “You got a name?”

“Of course I do,” she said somewhat stupidly, flustered by the boy’s attentions. Young men as attractive as him didn’t notice her; even moderately handsome boys like Ron didn’t, much as she wanted them to.

He laughed, a loud bark of a laugh that sounded familiar. Everything about him was familiar. He was wearing a Gryffindor tie and his grey jumper had the distinct scarlet and gold at the collar, so she must have seen him around the common room. He was probably a fifth year student who had a major growth spurt over the summer holiday and was nearly unrecognizable to her now.

“Let’s try a different approach: What’s your name?” he asked.

“Hermione.”

“Hermione,” he repeated it. She liked how it sounded in his deep voice. “Are you new?”

“No,” she replied, confused and slightly insulted. “Are you?”

He replied through his laughter, “No.” He eyed her with a grin and turned to follow her glance. She was looking past him to the Slytherin table. It was difficult to look away from him, but she was supposed to be watching Malfoy. “Who’s the blond bloke? A crush of yours?”

She snorted, not caring if it sounded completely undignified and unladylike. The idea that she would be remotely interested in Malfoy was just ridiculous. How could he be a Gryffindor and even think she would be interested in Malfoy?

“Most certainly not,” she said, staring at the new face before her. He really did look familiar.

Her interest in him brought a smile to his lips as if it was something completely novel, which it wasn’t. Girls just liked him. If she liked him, she wasn’t showing it in the usual way; there wasn’t any worrying stutters or giggles retarding her ability to speak. She was looking him over, appraising more than admiring, and he liked it. It was something very different than he was used to.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He leaned in to tell her, closing the already tight gap and all but brushing her ear with his lips.

“Hermione!” Ron called as he rushed over. He eyed the new boy with suspicion, his long hair with contempt, his proximity to Hermione with horror. “Come on, Malfoy’s settled in, we can watch with Harry now.”

“Okay,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed. “Excuse me.”

With impeccable manners, the young man rose from his seat and offered her a hand in standing. She accepted it and fought down a blush. “Thank you.”

“Not at all, Hermione,” he winked and sat back down to eat his breakfast.

Ron glared back over his shoulder at him. The boy just smirked. He was taller than Ron, had more muscle, too, but that didn’t stop Ron sending threatening looks his way. “Who was that?” he whispered roughly.

“I didn’t catch his name. Does he look familiar to you?”

“Looks like a git to me,” Ron grumbled as they found room beside Harry.

“He didn’t even look this way,” Harry told them as soon as they sat down.

Hermione told them what she saw when Malfoy came in. Harry and Ron spent the rest of breakfast dissecting Malfoy’s every move like observers of a Wizard Chess game. Every glance Malfoy made, every sneer or smirk, they noted it. Hermione wasn’t watching. She was too busy trying to figure out who the boy was. She read in a book once that hair only grows an average of half-an-inch per month, so at the end of the previous term his hair would only have been an inch shorter than it was now; she didn’t remember a Gryffindor with hair even close to as long as that boy’s. But he was a wizard and it wasn’t hard to imagine him using a spell to grow his hair out.

It was frustrating to say the least. She didn’t have a photographic memory, but she could remember facts from books like Ron remembered Quidditch handicaps. Placing a name to a face ought to be easy for her. Recognizing a face as handsome and a mouth so quick to smile and grey eyes so eager to disappear in crinkles as he laughed loudly ought to be simple, especially in the small and tightly knit Gryffindor tower. Maybe Harry would know him. She would point him out as they left and he might be able to tell her his name. 

“We’re going to be late,” Hermione said. As eager to be to class on time as to have Harry identify the young man in question.

“Malfoy’s moving, too,” Harry said and rushed to stand.

They walked down the aisle; Hermione’s eyes were locked on the spot where the boy with the long, dark hair ought to have been sitting. The spot was empty. There were no plates to indicate that he had been sitting there at all. She was bitterly disappointed, and had to force herself to watch Malfoy. The pale Slytherin came to the entrance hall at the same time Harry did, glared at him, sneered and strode past.

“It was him,” Ron said.

“Definitely,” Harry agreed.

So Malfoy was playing at being Harry in the evenings to get him into trouble and expelled. That would make Harry’s life more difficult than normal. He sat in Charms plotting out his best course of action. He would have to make sure he traveled with a pack of students at all times to ensure he had an alibi and witnesses. Although, if Mrs Norris shadowed his every move, the cat would be his best witness. Somehow she and Filch managed to communicate, and she would tell him that Harry went straight from the Gryffindor tower to the Headmaster’s office. If the cat stuck with him, it wouldn’t matter what crimes Malfoy did while disguised as him.

“You realize,” Ron said with a worried expression after Harry told him this revelation, “that you’re actually happy that Filch suspects you.”

“He always suspects me,” Harry said with a laugh. “He suspects everyone.”

“That’s true.”

They walked on to lunch, Hermione hoping with every step to see the boy and find out his name. More than that, she was hoping to have him so close she could smell his skin as he whispered it to her, like he would have done that morning. Her hopes were for nothing, however, as he wasn’t there, at least not where she could see. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. Ron didn’t pay her any attention, so why would someone that handsome give her a second look. She could smack Weasley for interfering.

“What did I do?” Ron asked when he saw her looking at him in a rather unpleasant tone.

“Nothing,” she grumbled and focused on her sandwich.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he insisted. “You’re looking at me like I killed your cat or something.”

She glared at him with more venom than she had before, “I said it was nothing.”

He opened his mouth to continue, but Harry stomped on his foot to keep him from shoving it any further into his big mouth. Ron wasn’t used to girls. A lifetime growing up with brothers and a sister as fiery as all the Weasley boys combined hadn’t taught Ron the delicacies required to dealing with girls in foul moods. Unlike Ron, Harry grew up with his Aunt Petunia, who was always in a foul mood with Harry around, so he knew the secret female language of glares, sighs, tones and pursed lips. Hermione was at the lower levels of annoyance where it was best to say nothing until she got over it on her own or mentioned what it was she was annoyed about. To prod her as Ron wanted to do, would risk raising her level of annoyance from moderate vexation to proper anger.

Ron did understand the blatant male signal to shut up, which he did by taking too large a bite of pasty.

“What are we going to do about Malfoy?” Hermione asked. Her tone was back to normal though she gave Ron a nasty look for eating with so few manners. That handsome black-haired boy wouldn’t have eaten his lunch that way, she was certain.

“We’ll have to catch him in the act,” Harry said, his nose wrinkled at Ron’s overly full face. “No one will believe us otherwise.”

“How? We don’t know where he’ll be?” Ron said through his food.

“That is disgusting, Ronald.”

“Sorry.”

Ignoring the bits of half-masticated pasty on Ron’s tie, Harry said, “We do know. Filch said Malfoy was trying to break into a storeroom on the third floor.”

“What could he want in there?” Hermione wondered.

Harry shrugged. “To get me into trouble?”

“Obviously,” she sighed. “But there’s got to be more to it than that. We’ll have to go see what’s in that storeroom.”

Ron had finished swallowing his pasty, nearly choking on the enormous and only partially chewed bite, “Wait. You want Harry to do what he was accused of. What if he gets caught?”

“I’ve got the cloak. I won’t get caught,” Harry said with confidence. He may not have inherited a strut from his father, but he did inherit an invisibility cloak. With it he could easily sneak to the third floor and see what was so special about the storeroom.

“Filch will be guarding that storeroom expecting you to try again,” Hermione said. “How will you get through?”

Harry took a bite his sandwich and considered what to do while he chewed and swallowed. “If there really is something in there that Malfoy wants, he’ll try again. I’ll go and hide under the cloak until he comes. Most likely, Filch will chase after him and leave the room unguarded.”

Hermione and Ron nodded their approval.

“When?” Ron asked.

“Tonight.”


	3. Designated Decoy

Ron longed for the days when they were all small enough to fit under the invisibility cloak together. Hermione and Harry could both fit under it if Harry hunched over a bit, but Ron was so tall that his shoes showed even if he walked on bent knees and scrunched down until his spine ached. He had to stay back in Gryffindor tower while Harry and Hermione stalked into the shadows opposite the storeroom on the third floor.

There were actually several storerooms on the third floor, but the one being threatened by Malfoy was easy to spot. Filch had set Mrs Norris to guard it, and the cat didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle. She sat, as obvious and conspicuous as the nose on Professor Snape’s face, beside the door, scanning the hallway for movement. Her ears perked up when they approached, but she didn’t stir from her vigil since there was no one to chase.

“What if he doesn’t come tonight?” Hermione asked in a barely audible whisper.

“We’ll just have to come again tomorrow then,” Harry replied just as quietly.

She nodded and took her Charms book from her bag. They read by the light of her wand, looking up occasionally to check that Mrs Norris was still on guard and that no one was coming. They read until their eyes were sore and their backsides were numb from sitting, unmoving, on the hard stone, and still no one came.

“Should we go?” Hermione asked.

Harry was torn. He wanted to stay, but was uncomfortable and had other assignments to complete.  “I guess,” he muttered dejectedly.

“Oh shit!”  someone yelled loudly from just down the corridor. They looked and saw the boy who bore a remarkable similarity to Harry standing in the light of one of the large windows. From what Harry had seen of him the night before, this was very odd behavior; his reflexes were quick and he could have avoided being seen if he wanted to, but he stood there until Mrs Norris took off after him.

As soon as the cat was around the corner and out of sight, Harry jumped up from beneath the cloak and ran to the door.

“Ah ha!” Filch shouted from the dark entrance of a hidden passage.

“Run!” Hermione shouted to him. Harry didn’t need her to tell him; he was already halfway down the corridor, Filch wheezing after him. Hermione stood and stumbled in the dark, but caught herself on something solid. She had barely regained her breath from the shock of Filch’s appearance when the invisibility cloak was ripped off her. She yelped in surprise.

“Oh, it’s you,” the deep voice said. The boy whose name she didn’t know pulled off his own cloak and smiled down at her, amused. The something solid she used to steady herself had been his chest. She stared at her hands, still pressing into his muscles, and had to use all her concentration to force herself to pull them back.

As she righted herself and hid her fidgeting hands behind her back, he smiled and spoke again, “What are you doing here?”

“Um… waiting…” she said. She was befuddled by his sudden appearance. As far as she knew, only Harry had an invisibility cloak at school.

He grinned. “For me?”

She was shocked by his self-confidence, which Ron and Harry would have had a much ruder word for. He was leaning in close to her again, one hand braced on the wall, the other hanging lazily from his pocket by a hooked thumb. She had been friends with Ron for years and he had never once paid her this much attention. No one paid her this much attention or got this physically close to her unless they were hiding under an invisibility cloak. Her question came out with more astonishment than she meant for him to hear. “Who are you?”

Again he grinned at her interest in him. “Sirius.”

“I can see you’re serious, but what’s your name?”

He laughed quietly, more a breath than anything else. He was used to people misunderstanding him, “My name is Sirius.”

People normally questioned his name or looked at him oddly after learning it, but Hermione’s wide eyes weren’t taking him in that way. She was studying him, like something unusual in a jar. He fought the frown that threatened his carefully manicured smirk and let her study him. Her eyes finally narrowed as she spoke again. “Is that a common name in the wizarding world?”

“I’ve never met another one; why?”

“My friend, Harry,” she pointed down the corridor indicating the boy who had run off, “had a Godfather named Sirius.”

“Never met him,” Sirius shrugged.

“But you look a bit like him… quite a bit, actually…” she said and considered his face and grey eyes and long, thick black hair. She tried to remember the Black family tree on the wall of Grimmauld Place. Had there been another Sirius born in that century? “What’s your surname?”

“Black.”

She inhaled sharply and stared at him again. Sirius Black, the same name as Harry’s Godfather. He looked very much like Sirius would have when he was in school, before the death of his best friend, before he was sent away to prison for a mass murder he did not commit, before he died at the hands of his mad cousin. Sirius Black, a relative Hermione never knew the man had, stood before her, frowning at the intensity of her scrutiny.

She finally blinked. When her eyes opened she wasn’t studying him anymore, but was still eying him with interest. “Why are you here?”

“My friend needs something from the storeroom,” he said simply and turned away from her, keen to get away from her unnerving stares. He was used to girls staring, but not quite the way she did; she stared like she could see clear through him.

He made his way across the hall quickly. The storeroom was unguarded now. He unlocked it with a wave of his wand. Hermione followed him in. Getting into this room was the reason they have broken curfew, but they thought it was Malfoy trying to get in. Was this boy a friend of Malfoy?

She was afraid that if she asked him outright, he would stop paying attention to her, so she opted for the slower approach. “If your friend is the one who wanted it, why isn’t he getting it?”

He shrugged as he dug through the trunks, his hands riffling through the dusty and forgotten objects looking for something specific. “Flipped a Galleon for it. He lost.”

“Lost?”

“Yeah, he had to be the designated decoy,” Sirius said, finding it easier to talk to her when her eyes were watching his back and not his face. “Just as well, he’s a faster runner than me.”

“What’re you looking for?” She stepped closer and tried to ignore the warmth of his arm against hers. All her attention had to be on the object of his desire, not hers.

“Oh, the usual,” he sighed wistfully, “the secrets to eternal youth and happiness, the names of all the Quidditch World Cup winners for the next thirty years, the love of a good woman,” he winked at her, “and… _this_.”

He pulled a small case from the trunk. It looked like the sort that held her potions supplies, only much older. The dark wood was scored from years of abuse, the protective metal corners were dented and tarnished; one was missing completely from the top of the case. She waited for him to open it, but he tucked it under his arm and turned.

“What is that?” she asked.

The young man leaned in until his face was barely an inch from hers. “That is for me to know,” he smirked. “And you to go on a date with me to find out.”

Hermione flushed and stuttered, “Well, that just isn’t fair.”

“You got a boyfriend?” He tried not to let the smirk take over his whole face as she grew more flustered. Having the upper hand made their conversation much easier for him.

“Well, no, but—“

“Then it seems fair enough to me, but if you’re not interested…” He drummed his fingers on the case under his arm, playing on her curiosity and enjoying the absolute turmoil on her face. It wasn’t that she was opposed to going out with him; she just didn’t appreciate his extortion techniques. That case was the whole reason she and Harry had come here. If that black-haired boy that had drawn Mrs Norris away really was Malfoy, then she needed to know what was in the case. She also wanted to know how this Gryffindor came to be in Malfoy’s pocket.

She huffed, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I’ll go out with you,” she clarified. “Now what’s in the case?”

He shook his head. “I learned quite some time ago that you never reveal your hand until after the payment has been given,” he grinned as she blushed again, taking a darker meaning of his words. “Date first, contents of the case second.”

“Oh, you—“

“Ah, please, let’s keep this polite,” he pressed a finger to her lips to silence whatever harsh names she might have hurled at him. “And I think Filch and the cat have lost our respective friends by now, so we had better move.”

Sirius led the way back to the corridor, checking for signs of the caretaker or his pet. When he saw the coast was clear, he stepped out into the moonlit corridor, Hermione followed. He was distracted and she could easily hex him and steal the case, but he was no threat to her. Had he been Malfoy or one of Malfoy’s goons in disguise, he would have hexed her without compunction and left her to take the blame for the theft. Whoever this Sirius was and whatever his relationship to Malfoy, he trusted her enough to keep his back to her. She could not take advantage of that trust.

She turned to check the opposite direction. The corridor was thick with shadows but she saw no movement. Filch was still after Harry, Mrs Norris after Sirius’s friend.

“Your friend,” Hermione said, “What is his name?”

Sirius didn’t answer. He was gone, disappeared under his own invisibility cloak and into the night with the case. He hadn’t even told her when or where their date would be. That cocky bastard had tricked her. She stomped her food and glared at the darkness for a moment before she found Harry’s cloak and made her body and her embarrassment invisible. Harry and Ron would be furious, but they couldn’t possibly match her ire. 


	4. Radiant Waves

Hermione tucked her book under her arm and carried her cauldron to another table. Ron and Harry were being impossible. Yes, she had let their enemy get his hands on whatever it was he was after, but they didn’t have to take it out on her during class. She tried to explain that he had his back turned and that it would have been unsporting, but Ron just laughed and Harry pointed out that Malfoy didn’t care about ‘unsporting’; he would have cursed her to within an inch of her life regardless of which direction her back was pointed.

She slammed her book down on the table, startling the girl who was sitting at the opposite end.

“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, still sounding annoyed.

“Is it Potter?” the girl asked. Hermione nodded curtly. “He’s a prat, just ignore him.”

Hermione laughed. She knew Harry’s popularity came and went in waves, but she had never heard anyone but Malfoy refer to Harry so harshly, except perhaps Ron when he was being particularly stupid. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.”

She looked at the new girl with interest. Hermione couldn’t focus on her face at first because the girl’s hair drew all her attention; thick and deep red, it fell around her shoulders in waves. The girl reached back and tied it in a ponytail to keep it safe from the fires. With the distracting hair pulled back, Hermione could look at her face. Hermione found something familiar in the curve of her nose and color of her eyes that reminded her of Harry in a general way. But the rest of her features were so different, she barely made the connection. It was like when she met Sirius in the Great Hall the other day, there was recognition but not as intense a reaction as she had to him.

“I’m Hermione,” she offered a hand.

“Lily,” the girl accepted and shook it briefly. She was studying Hermione with the same confusion, as if it were Hermione who was the curiosity and not herself. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Professor Slughorn came into the room with all his pretentious posturing.

“Damn, when did Slughorn get so fat?” Lily whispered.

Hermione didn’t answer. The way her luck was running, the professor would overhear her and she would end up with detention for the rest of the month. She was currently in the professor’s good graces and would like to stay there. As ridiculous as the wizard appeared, he was a decent enough teacher and he was very well connected through his Slug Club. Hermione had done some research and found a number of prominent witches and wizards were members of the club to which she had been invited.

She focused on the lesson, wanting to make sure Slughorn knew her skills. Lily, she found, was a wonderful Potions partner. They mastered the difficult dreamless sleep potion first and won ten points each for Gryffindor. As Slughorn came around to examine their finished potions, he paused to stare at Lily with as much restrained confusion as Hermione had. Hermione assumed he, too, had missed the announcement about the new student.

“Hermione,” Lily said as they cleaned their cauldrons and packed their bags, “Are you free later to study? I want to make sure I understand Polyjuice before next week’s class.”

The bushy haired Gryffindor fumbled as she was placing her notes into her bag. Polyjuice Potion. What were the odds that three new Gryffindors would appear in one week? What were the odds that one would approach her about Polyjuice Potion when they suspected Malfoy of using it to get Harry expelled? Something was going on and this girl, nice and smart as she appeared, was involved.

“I’m free after lunch,” Hermione said, keeping her voice neutral. “Do you want to study in the common room?”

The girl nodded. “Sounds good.”

That threw Hermione’s suspicions for a loop. If this girl was a Slytherin in disguise, she wouldn’t have agreed to meet in the Gryffindor common room. The password had just been changed that morning, so there was no way a Slytherin could know it. “I think I might have forgotten the password,” Hermione said slowly. “Do you remember what it is?”

Lily leaned in and whispered the password so the nearby Slytherins wouldn’t hear, “Orange Marmalade.”

“Oh, right,” Hermione said. “Thanks.”

Her brow creased in thought. That was the new password. There was no chance that a Slytherin could know it. There was something more going on than just Malfoy getting Harry expelled. She couldn’t believe that there would be three new Gryffindors without a single announcement; Professor McGonagall, their head of house, would have introduced them even if Dumbledore didn’t. Lily was a sixth year and knew Slughorn, but Hermione hadn’t seen her in class or in the dormitory at all the previous week. Sirius was a member of the ancient wizarding family; he would have been in Hogwarts starting at age eleven, yet she had never heard of him before.

“You’re very attractive when you’re confused,” Sirius slid up to her in the corridor and wrapped a sly arm around her waist.

“You!” She flushed as much from the compliment as from residual anger. He had left her without any hint of planning for their date, making her feel an absolute idiot. She wanted to curse him but instead found herself admiring the curve of his jaw.

“No name-calling, now. I thought we were trying to keep things polite,” he grinned.

“Sirius, leave the girl alone,” Lily glared at him. “Go tag along with Potter.”

Hermione watched the pair exchange familiar and chilly gibes as they walked. They knew each other well, like they had gone to school together for years and were sick of the sight of one another. Well, Lily seemed sick of the sight of him at any rate. Sirius just seemed to enjoy having someone to spar with verbally.

“I’ll meet you in the common room later,” Lily told Hermione and left.

“Another date?” Sirius looked at her approvingly. “I didn’t think you or Lily swung that way…”

Hermione blushed a deep scarlet to match her tie. “Not that it matters or is any of your business, but I do not ‘swing that way’.”

“Thank god. That would have been a waste of material,” he paused barely long enough for her to register the compliment before he continued, “So! I was thinking about our date…”

Despite the gorgeous smell of spices still clinging to his robes from the potion he was brewing, Hermione held her breath. She had been anticipating this since the previous night. It’s why she had scoured the Gryffindor table with her eyes, searching out his face.

“How does dinner this Saturday sound?”

“Oh,” she fought the urge to bite at her lip, “I can’t.”

“I thought you wanted to know what was in the case…”

“I do, but I can’t have dinner Saturday. I have to go to The Slug Club dinner,” she explained.

He studied her sideways through narrow and suspicious eyes, “You’re one of them? And you looked so normal.”

Hermione couldn’t hold the laughter in. It bubbled out of her and filled the corridor. “Next Saturday, then?” she offered.

He pouted in contemplation. “Sounds good,” he declared and then leaned in to whisper, “Did I mention how much I like a woman who can take charge?”

“No, your likes and interests have yet to come up,” she commented. It was meant to sound slightly off-hand and imply distrust in him, but her smile completely spoiled the effect.

“Really?” he replied with genuine surprise. “I thought I was being pretty obvious about my like of and interest in you.” He smirked as she blushed to an attractive pink. “Next Saturday, prepare to hear about the life, likes and interests of Sirius Black and I will do the same of yours. Until then, I need something to keep me going…” He leaned in and stole her mouth in a quick kiss that lasted only long enough for him to lick her bottom lip and pull the breath from her lungs.

“See you,” he smirked and strolled away.

“What the hell was that?” Ron practically shrieked. He was flushed a deep and angry red that clashed horrendously with his hair. His accusing finger shook in the air at the boy who had just attacked his friend. “Who was that?”

Hermione didn’t answer; she had no thoughts and no breath to speak them.

Harry waved a hand in front of her face, breaking her line of sight on Sirius’s retreating backside. “Hermione?”

“Hm?”

“Was that the bloke who took the case?” Harry looked at her with worry and spoke in a calm and slow voice.

“What? Yes, that was him,” she said.

“You fancy him!” Ron accused. “You let him take the case so he’d fancy you, too!”

She glared at him, the radiant waves of excitement she felt after Sirius kissed her fading quickly with Ron’s continued annoyances. “No, Ronald. He took the case and I’m going on a date with him to find out what’s in it.”

“You’re dating that git?” Ron gripped his chest.

“Not _dating_ ,” she let out an exasperated breath. “Going on _a_ date. One date. That’s all.”

Ron sneered. “Didn’t look like that was all. The way he was hanging all over you like that… He’s just using you, ya know!”

Harry’s eyebrow rose of its own will as he watched Ron make an idiot of himself. He didn’t think Ron’s reaction was quite appropriate for a friend worrying about another friend; he thought it was more like a jealous boyfriend. Ron was jealous, and jealousy did not suit him. Jealousy made him irritating.

“Using me?” Hermione glared murderously at him.

“He’s just one of Malfoy’s git friends winding you up,” Ron insisted angrily. “He’ll make you fancy him and get all the information on Harry he wants. He doesn’t really like you.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “I realize it’s a difficult concept, Ronald, but some boys do actually like me. Just because you— Oh! You’re impossible!” She shook her head and forged her own path through the entrance hall and to lunch.

“Ron, you coming?” Harry asked when his friend didn’t follow her.

“No, I’ve lost my appetite,” Ron said and walked away.

This, thought Harry, is why I’m against friends dating.

He was certain they would make no headway on finding out what Malfoy was up to while Ron and Hermione were fighting. His own appetite was severely diminished by the thought of being expelled and either locked with the Dursleys until his eighteenth birthday or hunted down and killed by Death Eaters the second he left King’s Cross. He would have to get them talking civilly before dinner for the sake of his own sanity. Hermione wasn’t an issue as long as Ron didn’t start on her snogging a potential enemy or insinuate that she was a hideous girl that no bloke in his right mind would want to date. Clearly, it was Ron that Harry had to reason with.

The trouble, Harry discovered, was that he couldn’t find Ron. He wasn’t in the common room when they came back from lunch. He wasn’t in their shared bedroom either. He spotted Ginny when he came back down to the common room and thought she might know where to find her brother. As he got closer he noticed her hair was different, darker, not as straight or shiny. It was pretty, but he liked her old hair style better.

“Hey,” Harry said and dropped into the chair next to her. He found it wasn’t Ginny. This girl looked familiar, but it wasn’t Ginny.

“What do you want, Potter,” the girl practically spat at him. She turned in her chair, shifting her position so she sat farther away from him.

“Sorry, I thought you were Ginny,” he said defensively.

“Nice try, Potter, but I don’t know any Ginny,” replied the argumentative girl. She glared at him, but her eyes went wide. “Did you transfigure your eyes to look like mine? That is weird, Potter. Creepy, stalker-stuff weird. Get help.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Transfi— No! I did not!” He stood and stomped away from her. What the hell was going on here? Criminals who looked like him and boys with his Godfather’s name that snogged his friend and a girl who hated him yet had his same eyes. Something was wrong. Very wrong, and he had no idea what it was.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted and ran across the common room as soon as she came down from the girls’ dorms.

“Sorry, Harry, I’m supposed to be studying with someone,” she said and looked around the common room. “Have you seen a new girl – red hair, green eyes?”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, she yelled at me.” He pointed to a seat, but saw it was empty. Even the girl’s notes, which had filled the table a second earlier, were gone. It was like she had never been there at all.


	5. Out of Focus

The common room emptied and grew dark while Harry waited and Hermione studied. Harry had tried studying, too, but quickly gave up when he found himself looking up at every noise and subsequently reading the same paragraph in the potions books nine times. Lily never returned. Ron never showed his face either. Near ten o’clock Harry started to get worried that, in his agitation, Ron might have done something stupid and got himself into trouble. He ran up to check their bedroom again. Seamus and Neville were there playing cards.

“Have you seen Ron?” Harry asked, too worried to keep from sounding a bit rude.

“Nah,” Seamus said. “Come to think of it, he wasn’t at dinner, was he?”

Neville shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Is everything alright?”

“I dunno,” Harry said. He took the invisibility cloak from under his pillow and left before they could ask him more. Neville had fought alongside him in the Ministry the previous year and knew that Harry’s odd behavior often meant something big was happening; the last thing he needed was to have Neville spread it around Dumbledore’s Army that there was a new battle in the works. 

He hurried back to the common room, hoping Ron would be there but not actually expecting him to be. Hermione agreed to stay behind in case Ron returned, and Harry left through the portrait hole. The corridors were dark and silent; most of the portraits were back in their own frames by this hour and starting to doze off. Harry threw on his cloak and started searching the corridors and empty classrooms. He found more than a few snogging seventh years and had to duck into a classroom to avoid Peeves, but he didn’t see Ron anywhere.

His final destination, which probably ought to have been the first place he looked, was the Room of Requirement. Harry hurried toward the blank wall opposite the tapestry depicting trolls learning ballet. It was dark and quiet, so he didn’t bother trying to quiet his footsteps. That was a mistake.

A bright light shot from a shadow and knocked him backwards. Harry stumbled and the cloak fell from him, but he managed to stay upright.

“You again!” the cocky black-haired boy said and threw his own cloak to the floor. “Why do you keep getting in my way?”

“What have you done with my friend?” Harry demanded and pulled his wand from his back pocket.

“The pretty girl with the big hair? I didn’t do anything to her, that was Sirius,” the boy smirked.

“No. Ron, what’ve you done with him?”

“Don’t know any Ron, but I do know you keep showing up when I don’t want you to,” he said lazily and pointed his wand at Harry.

Harry was used to having wands pointed at him. He had become quite good at dueling over the years, and planned to make that plain to the boy. He raised his wand and threw out the disarming spell, “Expelliarmus!” The boy did the same. Each of their wands flew from their grasps and left them with only their empty hands to demonstrate just how much they disliked one another.

The boy was an only child of a wizarding family, so fists were not his first choice of weapon. Harry, however, had grown up a punching bag for his fat cousin, and he was very comfortable with fists. He charged the boy demanding to know were his friend was, landing a punch to the boy’s head that sent his glasses from his face. The boy might not have been accustomed to this method of fighting, but he caught on quick. Harry’s glasses fell and he doubled over when the boy landed a punch to his gut. Harry retaliated with a fist to the boy’s side. They fought brutally and loudly for several minutes, each of them fueled by a deep and unexplained antagonism toward the other.

“Stop!” the boy said and held out his hand just as Harry made to punch him in the face. “Listen!”

Harry didn’t relax but did open his ears. He could hear the hard click of heels on the bare stone floors. A teacher on evening rounds was closing in on them fast. Harry let a curse out and grabbed his glasses, wand and cloak from the floor while the other boy did the same. They vanished from sight.

Hiding in the shadow of a pillar and beneath his cloak, Harry caught his breath. As he calmed down, he felt the pain where the boy had landed some strong punches. Like Harry, the boy was skinny, but strong and fast. He slid the glasses onto his face and felt the nose pieces of the glasses pinch the bridge of his nose. Harry thought he might have broken his glasses and maybe his nose, too.

He clung to the wall as Professor Sinistra walked past, shining her wand into every corner and shadow to find the source of the noises she had heard echoing through the halls. The sharp eyed witch wanted to find them so she could get back to stargazing, but there was no one to find. Her heels clicked on down the hall and Harry hurried on quiet trainers back to the Gryffindor dorm. He would need Hermione’s help to fix whatever needed fixing. The last thing he wanted to do was go to Madam Pomfrey looking like he’d been in a fight. It was the truth, but it would also play into Malfoy’s plan. He trudged through the portrait hole and found Ron and Hermione talking in the common room.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Harry shouted and tore the cloak off.

“What the bloody hell have you been doing?” Ron stared at him.

Harry’s nose and lip were bleeding. He had a bruise forming on his cheek and probably lots of other places that his clothes covered. Everything, especially his hand, hurt but he was pleased in the knowledge that the cocky bastard was hurting worse than he was.

“I found that bloke who looks like me,” Harry said and winced as Hermione started placing spells on him. “I thought he had done something to you, so we fought.”

“Who won?” Ron chuckled.

“I think I did.”

Hermione clicked her tongue in disapproval. “There are better ways to get answers than by fighting.”

“Damn heroic, Harry,” Ron grinned. “Nice to know you care.”

“Git,” Harry said and would have smiled if it didn’t hurt so much. “So where were you?”

“Library.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He hadn’t actually checked the library, but felt too stupid to say so. “Ow! Hermione, can you fix my glasses, they’re really pinching.”

“I did already,” she said and looked at them. “Harry… I don’t think those are your glasses.”

Harry took them off and squinted to make out the shape of them. They looked too square, the lenses too large. “They’re his,” Harry realized.

“This is fantastic!” Hermione squealed and ripped them from his hands. “I can put an owner locating charm on them.”

Harry frowned. “What they’ll just fly to him?

“No, of course not,” she said dismissively. “It will be like the warmer colder game. They’ll be normal most of the time, but when he’s nearby the glasses will warm up. The closer you get the hotter they’ll get.”

They didn’t say anything to disturb Hermione while she performed the charm. She handed the glasses back to him and he slid them on his face cautiously, worried they would burn him. All they did was pinch his nose.

“Anything?” Ron asked eagerly.

“His eyes are as bad as mine,” Harry commented. “They’re not warm, though.”

Ron fell back in his chair, disappointed. He really wanted to see this boy who Harry had beat up for him.

Hermione decided, “We’ll look for him first thing. Even if his appearance is different, the glasses will know who they belong to.”

Harry nodded and stumbled up to his bedroom, where he fell fully clothed into his bed and slept until Seamus and Ron physically hauled him from the bed the next morning. Harry grumbled and swore at them, but managed to stand and make his own way to the washroom. The boy had gotten quite a few kicks to Harry’s legs in during their fight and he was trying hard not to limp. He really hoped the boy was Malfoy and he would be able to see the damage he’d done to that pale pointed face.

The sneering Slytherin was, much to Harry’s disappointment, untouched. He looked surprised at the bruise on Harry’s face though, and smirked his approval of whoever had caused the injury. The glasses did not react as he walked past Malfoy. They remained cool against his skin as he ate and as he walked to class. Wherever the boy was, he wasn’t anywhere near Harry. He knew better than to suspect Hermione’s charm of being faulty.

Harry packed up before class ended so that he could rush to the door first. He ran through the corridors and sat himself at the very end of the Gryffindor table, which was so close to the door that every student would have to walk past him to reach their table. If the boy was here in any form, the glasses would react.

His food went uneaten as he waited and watched the students filing past. He touched the metal frames, but they still felt cool. Hermione came to sit beside him, but didn’t dare break his concentration by speaking.

“It’s no use,” Harry said as the students began leaving. “They didn’t react.”

“He might not be here, Harry,” she assured him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, but didn’t believe her explanation. “I’m gonna head to the library. You coming?”

“In a bit, I want to go pick up a book from my room.”

He trudged off, not bothering to hide his limp. The glasses didn’t react to anyone that happened past him in the corridors or at the tables he passed in the library. He slouched into a chair and started reading his Herbology book. Hermione appeared after a few minutes, took out her books and started double-checking her essay.

The metal frames warmed against his skin.

Harry straightened and looked around. His eyes, the best on the Quidditch team so long as he had his glasses, studied every face. They had all been there when he sat down. He jumped up and all but ran through the stacks, examining every student he came across for signs that they had been in a fight. As he went, the glasses lost their warmth. He held back a curse as he went back to his table, the glasses warming with every step.

He walked quicker, letting the warmth of the metal guide him forward until they felt like someone had dipped them into a boiling cauldron before sliding them onto his face. The charmed glasses led him to Hermione. She looked up from her book, concerned, as he stood over her. Harry prodded her shoulder with a finger and the glasses grew warmer. He latched a hand onto her arm and they grew warmer still. She let out a tiny cry of protest as he grabbed her arms and pulled her to standing.

The boy stared at her, studying her. “What form does your patronus take?” he demanded.

“An otter, Harry; you know that,” she reminded him and put a hand to his forehead to see if he had taken ill after being punched so many times.

“Stop that!” he batted her hand away and accidentally knocked the book from her hand as he did. “Sorry,” he mumbled and retrieved it.

As his fingers brushed the hard cover of her book, the metal flared and burned his face. He hissed and threw the book back down to the ground. He stared at her and touched her arm again, the glasses didn’t react.

“Harry, what is it?”

The book lay open on the ground, looking as innocent as any book he had seen. The print was not decorative or hand written; it was a common Muggle book that looked as if it were one of a thousand printed on a machine at the same time. It’s just a book, he told himself and knelt to pick it up. The glasses heated to an unbearable temperature against his temples as he held the book in his hands. He threw it to the table and yanked the glasses from his head.

“It’s the book,” Harry said. “The glasses belong to the book.”

She looked from him to the book and back. “Harry, that’s impossible. Glasses can’t belong to a book.”

“I know that! But they burn whenever I touch it,” he touched his temple and felt the blister forming. “It’s the only thing they’ve reacted to.”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s just a Muggle book.”

“Take the charm off them please, I’d like to be able to see,” he pointed to the table where he thought his glasses would be but missed by a good two feet. She did as he asked and returned them to normal, then calmed the burns with a cooling charm. “Thanks.”

“Look,” she passed him the book. “It a Muggle book.”

He touched a finger to the cover to test that the glasses wouldn’t burn him again. When the frames didn’t flare up at the tiny touch, he grabbed the book and began flipping through it, eyeing the odd illustrations and rhyming couplets in large text blocked off within the pages of each story. “There are spells in here.”

“They’re not real spells,” she laughed. “They’re just little rhymes. It’s just a collection of folktales, Harry.”

He looked at the dark image illustrating a dead man rising from a grave. The picture worried him, but the poem beneath was somehow worse. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I borrowed it from the library back home. It’s just a regular book, not magic and not filled with proper spells.”

Harry frowned and turned to the beginning to look at the title page. There was no copyright or author or any of the things he would expect to see in a regular Muggle book. He turned back to the poem again. It unsettled him. Without meaning to, he found himself reading aloud,

“‘What had been hidden will rise up again,  
Beware those who seek it for their own gain.  
Though the lines of wizard and witch are strong,  
A new one will find it, not one who seeks wrong.  
The blood of the maiden must surely be spilled,  
For the source of evil to be truly killed;  
When words of nightmare and terror are spoken,  
And the wall between ghost and man is broken.’

 “Wall between ghost and man,” Harry muttered and thought about the black-haired boy, the boy that shared his Godfather’s name and the girl with his eyes. “I don’t think it’s just a story book, Hermione.”

She wanted to laugh at him, but his face was ash white and his voice dead calm. “What?”

“Did you read any of these poems out loud?”

“Maybe one or two…”

“‘When words of nightmare and terror are spoken’,” Harry repeated. “You said the poems out loud. You spoke the words of nightmare and terror.”

“But… it’s a Muggle book,” she repeated in a small and hollow voice.

“Hermione, ‘the wall between ghost and man is broken’,” he read again. “Ghosts, Hermione.”

“Ghosts?” she whispered and thought about the new, unannounced and vaguely familiar students who had been appearing and all week. “Sirius Black... He said he’d never met another Sirius and I can’t remember another one born recently on the family tree.”

She was barely speaking the words, but Harry heard each one and nodded in frightened agreement.

“Lily,” she continued, “Slughorn stared at her like she wasn’t supposed to be there. Lily with eyes like yours.”

“And the boy who looks too much like me to be possible,” Harry said. He considered the boy a moment, strutting and cocky as Snape insisted James Potter had been. His hazel eyes as poor as Harry’s, and his hair just as wild. His frame just as thin.

“I just beat up my father,” Harry realized.   


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem was taken (and modified) from The Other Book by Philip Womack, a lovely book. It's what brought about the idea for this entire story, and I think it's definitely worth a look.


	6. Solid as a Ghost

“Nice face,  _Potter_ ,” Draco Malfoy smirked and sauntered up to the boy in the entrance hall. His pale face leaned in uncomfortably close as he examined the damage on Potter’s face. He poked at the painful bruise with a hard and merciless finger. “Who did that to you, then?”

Potter didn’t say anything, just eyed the ferret-faced Slytherin with severe and understandable dislike.

“What’s the matter, Potter? Too embarrassed?” he sneered. “Got beat up by a girl? Or was it a first year?” The oversized idiots on either side of the pale boy laughed at his joke as they strode away.

“Who the hell was that git?” Sirius asked.

“No idea,” Potter shrugged and turned to head into the Great Hall.

A massive hand fell on his shoulder, making his knees buckle. “Haven’ seen yeh in ages!” Hagrid boomed his delight. “I sent yeh a letter jus’ this mornin’, but I’ll invite yeh in person seein’ as yer here. Are yeh free fer tea this ev’nin’ around seven?”

Potter stared up at the half-giant in complete confusion. He knew the gamekeeper well, but only as the man who kept catching him and his friends as they tried to sneak into the Forbidden Forest. The man had never once invited him to tea, yet he was acting as if they were best friends who gathered every chance they could. His black eyes were hidden behind the folds of skin as he smiled, but Potter had seen him angry and didn’t care to see that again.

“Yeah,” Potter said, his voice betraying his nerves and confusion. “Tea. Seven. Great.”

“Yeh can bring yer friends round, too, o’ course!” Hagrid patted him on the back, making him stumble forward into Sirius.

“Great,” he repeated.

“See yeh!” Hagrid boomed and ducked under the doorway to enter the Great Hall.

“What the bloody hell is going on around here?” Sirius pondered.

“I don’t know, but you’re coming to tea with me,” Potter rubbed his shoulder as they dropped onto the bench at the end of the Gryffindor table.

At the opposite end of the table, Hermione was studying her book while Harry explained to Ron their idea of ghosts. Ron glanced over Hermione’s shoulder at the book. A book had nearly killed his sister a few years back and he was overly cautious of them now to the point of not even trusting his own textbooks. This one, though, looked positively boring; the subject looked a bit sinister and depressing, but the book itself looked like nothing special.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ron insisted. “If it was a spell that raised Sirius and your parents from the dead, then they’d be old not teenagers. Is that possible? Hermione?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said and kept reading.

“Should we ask Madam Pince?” Harry asked. “I’m sure she’d know all about weird books, even Muggle ones.”

Hermione didn’t reply. She was determined to find the answer on her own. If she had caused this problem then she would solve it even if she had to spend the whole day analyzing the text. Hermione was never one to put anything above her studies, but Harry and Ron had to take notes for her in Charms as she sat with the book open on her lap, reading it through Professor Flitwick’s lecture. She read through lunch then sat in the Great Hall reading it while Harry and Ron did their homework and while they ate dinner. They were getting worried.

“Hermione?” Harry said and tried to pull the book from her hands. “I think you need a break.”

“No. I’m going to finish and figure this out,” she insisted and slapped his hand.

“But what if reading it like that is what brings the ghosts out?” Ron asked. “I mean, writing in the blank diary made Riddle real, right? So wouldn’t reading a book with words make the ghosts real, then?”

It made sense to Harry, but Hermione huffed and closed the book to glare at him. “How many books have you read, Ron? Magical book do not make things happen just because you read them. You have to say the words just right to make a spell work. I would have thought you’d understand that after five years of wizarding classes.”

“Oh,” Ron said, feeling stupid again.

“Come on,” Harry stood and threw his stuff into his bag. “We’re going to be late for tea.”

Harry and Ron hurried out the front entrance and down to Hagrid’s hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The light was on and smoke was coming from the chimney. Hagrid already had the kettle on when they knocked on the door.

“Now, who could tha’ be?” he muttered and went to open the door.

“Sorry we’re late,” Harry said and stepped inside. He stopped dead.

“You!” the boy stood and pointed his wand at him.

“Damn, you do look alike,” Sirius said in calm amazement. “Like brothers.”

Harry looked at the other boy, Sirius Black. He was leaning back in the oversized chair, his legs crossed at the knee, his black hair falling over the back of the chair and a rock cake in his hand. He was younger but he was most certainly the same Sirius Black. “Sirius?”

“That’s me,” he grinned. “Who’re you?”

“Harry… Harry Potter.”

“James! You’ve got a long lost brother!” Sirius announced happily. “And he kicked your arse!”

James Potter did look far worse than Harry. His jaw ached and he had garish bruises on his cheek and jaw where Harry had punched him hard enough to knock his glasses from his head. He couldn’t shout without it hurting, so he assumed he had a bruised rib, too. He was in no humor for Sirius’s jokes.

“Shut it, Padfoot!” James glared at them both.

“Uh… Harry…” Hagrid said. “What’s goin’ on? Why are there two o’ yeh?”

Harry looked at the giant of a man and was almost amused at how small he looked in his confusion. “There aren’t two of me, Hagrid. I’m me and that’s… my dad.”

“What?” the ghosts gaped.

“What the fuc—“ James began.

“Harry! I’ve got it!” Hermione raced in, the book held triumphantly in the air. “I’ve figured out what happened, though I’m still not sure exactly how it worked or why.” She ran up to him and started explaining. “I said it was folktales, remember? Well, I was reading this one just a few days ago. It’s about a boy, orphaned in war, who said these words and brought his parents back to flesh and blood, like ghosts but real. As I read it, I thought about you. You’re parents and Sirius dying. I must have read the rhyme aloud while I was thinking of them.”

“Not Harry,” James said stiffly to the girl staring up at him.

“Over here,” Harry said.

She looked between the two of them, then waved her hand dismissively. “Oh. Well, it doesn’t matter; you still heard what I said. This rhyme or spell or whatever you want to call it caused you and Lily and Sirius to appear. There has to be a way to un-do it.”

“You’re telling me that I’m dead,” James said.

“I’m afraid so, Mr Potter.”

“Does that mean our date is off?” Sirius looked at her.

“I would bloody well hope so!” Ron shouted.

“Didn’t ask you, ginger,” Sirius growled.

“What happened to keeping things polite?” she asked.

“Doesn’t apply to gingers,” he shrugged and sat back down. “Hagrid, I could do with that cup of tea.”

“Yeah,” the gamekeeper said numbly and set about making several very strong cups of tea, one with a shot of firewhiskey to calm his nerves. This was more than he bargained for when he asked Harry and his friends for tea.

Sirius accepted the cup with a nod and sipped it, hoping the man might have mixed the cups up and given him the one with whiskey in it. He was disappointed. “I have an issue with this plan of yours, Hermione.”

She looked at him, shocked. “What?”

“If we are really ghosts of a sort,” he said in a tone that implied he didn’t believe a word of it. “Then your plan to un-do the spell would leave me dead. And I don’t want to be dead.”

“We’re not dead,” James insisted stubbornly. The amount of pain he was in was proof enough to him that he was flesh and bone and injured. Ghosts couldn’t be injured, so he was no ghost.

“It was an ‘ _if’_ , Prongs,” Sirius shot him a look that humbled the injured boy.

Harry watched them in amazement. He had known Sirius but many years after he had been like this boy, many years after he had grown up physically and matured mentally. He had only seen glimpses of this boy, the self-assured grin and casual elegance, which had been dimmed by years of incarceration in the wizard prison, Azkaban. Harry had never known his father, James, and found he didn’t care for the boy that he had been. He had been assured by Sirius and Remus that this boy would change and become a properly good person, but Harry didn’t see much good in him at the moment.

“Too bad Remus isn’t here,” Sirius commented as if knowing Harry’s mind. “He’d have something different to say on the matter.”

“Where is Remus?” James wondered. “And Peter for that matter.”

“Remus isn’t here because he isn’t dead,” Hermione insisted. “He’s alive and nearly forty years old.”

“This is fucking nonsense,” James spat and slammed his untouched tea onto the table. “I’m leaving.”

“Mr Potter,” Hermione stood in his path. “Contact Remus and you’ll see. Use Harry’s owl, she knows where to find him.”

James sneered. Harry found a sneer did not suit his face. “Like I’d use anything of his.” He reached out and ripped the glasses off Harry’s face and threw the ones from his own face to the floor before marching out the door with a string of curses.

“Your dad’s a bit of a git,” Ron commented.

“Lovely tea, Hagrid,” Sirius said, completely unperturbed by James’s outburst, and raised the cup in an appreciative salute. “Wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to a bit of a pick me up in it, though.”

“Cheers,” agreed the giant and poured a generous portion of firewhiskey into the cup for him and a further measure into his own cup. This was the most confusing tea he had ever hosted in his long years at Hogwarts and not one he would care to repeat. 


	7. Devastated

James Potter took his anger out on the ground and steps and stones, not caring that his bruised ribs and jaw ached with the impact. He wanted to feel the pain. The pain meant he was alive and not some magically reanimated corpse as that git Harry and his idiot friend would have him believe. He was not dead; he was as alive as anyone. He felt the stones with his hand and knew he wasn’t a ghost.

Ghosts can’t feel anything. Ghosts can’t touch anything.

He stomped up to the Gryffindor tower and climbed in through the portrait hole. The common room was bustling as it always was. Students were clamoring for the good chairs by the fire or arguing over what their notes read. He had been attending Hogwarts for years and it was always the same, but for the first time he didn’t recognize a single face. He saw a hint of AJ Solorio in one girl’s face and a bit of Tildy Moorehead in another, but there was no one person that looked completely right. Where were all the Gryffindors he knew?

James raced up to his dorm and found it, too, was all wrong. There were posters and pictures spell-o-taped to the stone walls of people he didn’t know and familiar Quidditch teams were filled with players he had never heard of. He spotted the name H. Potter on a trunk and threw the wards off it with a hard wave of his wand. His fierce and angry fingers dug through the trunk; he didn’t know what he was looking for, but he would find it even if he had to destroy everything that prat owned.

He found a photo album and tore into it. That git said James was his dad, but they were the same age. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. But he saw the photos in the album and he was there with Evans, older and not quite as cocky, but it was definitely him.

“Impossible,” James muttered. He stowed the album under his arm and ran down the stairs to the common room. He knew there was no one he could talk to there, but there were people, loving and kind people, who would be able to give him answers. He pushed through to the fire, ignoring the cries and calls and people addressing him as ‘Harry.’ He took a fistful of powder from the jar on the mantle and threw it into the flames.

“Godric’s Hollow,” he said and disappeared into the green flames.

“What’s with Harry?” Seamus asked. Neville shrugged and Lily looked confused.

oOo

The rain pelted down on him, making James wet and cold as well as angry. He should have arrived in the fire of his parents’ house, but instead he came to the grate of The Lamb and Flag, the nearby pub. There were enough people drinking that no one noticed him in the fire, and he had run from the pub before anyone drew attention to him.

He was still running. His house was just ahead on the left and he wanted to get inside and out of the rain. Without looking where he was going, the boy ran down the lane toward his house. There should have been lights up ahead to guide him, but it was dark. He glanced up and skidded to a stop on the wet pavement.

His home was unrecognizable. The garden was overgrown in a way his mother would never have allowed. Ivy had overtaken the cottage and claimed the once polished windows. The roof… the roof was missing from half the house, blown outward by a curse. He rushed forward to find his parents, though he knew that the explosion would have killed anyone in the room. He also knew it had happened quite some time ago.

A sign rose from the ground as he grabbed the gate. It was covered in respectful vandalism offering encouragement to Harry. James sneered but read the sign anyway.

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,  
Lily and James Potter lost their lives.  
Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard  
ever to have survived the Killing Curse.

James stopped. He couldn’t keep reading. He was dead. But it was only 1976. He was only sixteen years old. He didn’t have a wife or a son. He was alive, dammit. What the hell was wrong with the world?

He turned and ran to the kissing gate and the cemetery beyond, searching through the stones. He found the ones he sought, his parents’ graves. The single stone held both their names, Charlus and Phinella Potter; they died a year after he would be leaving Hogwarts. He turned his eyes away, too horrified to believe it.

Just a few rows over he also found his own stone, with Lily’s name carved beside his. He wanted to say that it was a mistake, that Evans hated him and would never agree to marry him, that it was some other James Potter who happened to love a woman names Lily. But the date of birth was his, twenty-seventh of March 1960. He couldn’t hold back the wave of sickness and dove behind a grave to vomit. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

The taste of sick lingered in his mouth as he went back to his grave. It helped somehow. He was cold and sore and angry and the taste of vomit completed the wretched circle. He stared at his grave and Lily’s beside it. He had fought for years to get her attention, and apparently he would get it. That seemed a small consolation for dying so soon, for leaving a son in the world.

“‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’,” James read the epitaph with something resembling a laugh. He was standing over his own grave. If that wasn’t defeating death, what was? “Well, they got that part right.”

He couldn’t stand there any longer and went back to his parents’ stone. Sitting himself down in the muddy grass by their feet, he cried. It didn’t matter; no one was around to see it. The rain disguised his tears so even he didn’t know just how many he was shedding for them. They had been old, his parents, older than most when they had him. He knew they would die eventually, but he had hoped magic could keep them going on until they reached one hundred years old or more. He had wanted them to see him become a proper adult with a wife and children.

He sat until the rain stopped and the moon shone down on him. He was cold and miserable and he wanted it that way. It’s how he felt inside so it seemed fitting that he should feel that way outside as well.

That git had been right, he was dead.

oOo

Harry sat at breakfast the next morning trying to keep his eyes off Sirius. The boy who would be his Godfather wasn’t being so courteous; he was staring at him unashamedly. Harry was used to being stared at, but not by dead people. Hermione still couldn’t explain why the man had come back from the grave as a teenager and not as the one who had fallen behind the curtain at the Ministry. Sirius Black, his Godfather, had been nearly forty when he died, not sixteen.

“Will you stop staring?” Ron insisted.

“Can’t help it,” Sirius said. “It’s freakish.”

“Oi!” Harry said.

“Even that’s that same!” Sirius grinned and pointed at Harry’s indignation.

Harry wanted to say more, but he didn’t want to have Sirius drawing any more attention to the similarities between Harry and his young father. Harry didn’t particularly care for his father as a teenager, he found him annoying and rude and he fought dirty. Harry’s inner thigh still ached from where his father had kneed him viciously during their scuffle, attempting and thankfully failing to hit his privates.

James came into the Great Hall late and fell onto the bench beside Sirius. He glared across the table at Harry. “I’m listening.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Sirius stared at him. The boy was in a state, deathly pale and his hair unnaturally flat against his head.

“Visiting my parents,” James said. “They’re dead. House was blown to bits.” He looked skeptically across at Harry. “Did you really survive a killing curse?”

Harry nodded and lifted his fringe to show the scar.

“You haven’t got one of those,” Sirius commented, suddenly very impressed with Harry.

“I am aware,” James bit out the words. He didn’t know why Sirius was so intent on making it seem like he and Harry were the same person. They looked alike, but that was it. The kid was clearly a git, even if he was James’ son. “So, what are we going to do about this?”

Harry shrugged and looked to Hermione. She was back with her nose in the Muggle book again. The girl hadn’t slept all night, having stayed up to read through it twice hoping to find an answer to what had happened. Clearly none came to her in the long hours of night and she was forced to read the book again. “Hermione!”

She jumped and stared at him. “What?”

“Let someone else have a go, would you?” He grabbed the book from her hands and flipped through it. He wasn’t nearly as stupid as she seemed to think he was, and if given the chance he could solve his own problems. Even ones as large and annoying as his teenage father.

“I was thinking about that poem you read,” Hermione said.

“What poem?” Ron asked.

Harry found it in the book and passed it over to him. Ron read it aloud:

“‘What had been hidden will rise up again,  
Beware those who seek it for their own gain.  
Though the lines of wizard and witch are strong,  
A new one will find it, not one who seeks wrong.  
The blood of the maiden must surely be spilled,  
For the source of evil to be truly killed;  
When words of nightmare and terror are spoken,  
And the wall between ghost and man is broken.’”

“There,” she said. “The ‘source of evil’, I was thinking that might mean Voldemort.”

“Wait. It says ‘blood of the maiden’,” Sirius pointed out. “Some girl is going to have to die?”

“We need to go to Dumbledore,” Harry said.

“No!” Hermione insisted. “I can fix this.”

“Hermione,” Harry stared at her in disbelief. “Someone’s life is as stake.”

“Yeah, ours,” Sirius said.

“Shut it!” Ron glared at him. He didn’t like that strutting boy with his long hair and arms hanging all over Hermione. If he tried that she would slap him, but when Sirius did it she giggled and blushed.

“Make me, ginger,” Sirius smirked and held Ron’s eye as he slid an arm around Hermione. 


	8. Beg, Borrow, Steal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go from bad to worse (not verse).

Harry and James Potter grit their teeth and tried very hard not to bond over the idiocy of their respective friends. Ron and Sirius were bickering like a pair of old witches. It was obvious to the two Potters what they were really fighting about, but each thought it best not to mention it. Things were hard enough without their friends turning on them.

“Chocolate bacon,” Harry said to the stone gargoyle guarding the stairs to the Headmaster’s office.

They climbed the rotating stairs, eager to get to the door and stop the pair arguing.

“—impossible!” came Professor McGonagall’s crisp voice through the thick wood of the door. Her voice was known to carry even farther than Hagrid’s when she was angry, but Harry had never heard the stern old witch shout in the Headmaster’s office. Whatever was going on must have been very bad.

Harry dared the witch’s anger and knocked loud on the door, holding back the wince at the pain it caused to his knuckles, which were still tender after the fist fight he had with James. His father had a very hard jaw.

“Come,” Dumbledore called and Harry pushed the door open.

“Sorry, Professor, but we need some help,” Harry said and stopped dead in his tracks. The girl that had yelled at him in the common room, the girl that it turns out was his mother, was there. She looked confused and more than a little upset. When she laid her green, almond-shaped eyes on Harry, however, her confusion faded and only anger showed. Whatever was happening, she knew it was his fault, or at least that’s what her furious glare told him.

“Perhaps another time, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled kindly. “We have our own troubles to sort out.”

“Uh, Professor,” he said. “I think our problems might be connected.” He stepped aside and let James enter the room.

“Oh dear god, there’s two of them?” Lily balked.

“Dear me,” Professor McGonagall placed a shaking hand to her heart. “James! How can this be, Albus?”

James was used to standing around the Headmaster’s office, he was caught at least one out of four times whenever he attempted to have fun, and after a while Dumbledore realized there was no point in lecturing the boy as he would continue to do as he pleased anyway. The two had developed a nice relationship over the years where James was offered some tea and a biscuit and settled down to explain what exactly he had been thinking while the Headmaster twinkled away. He would speak only to comment on the flaws of James’s plans, resulting in a better second attempt at whatever foolish thing he was doing.

This was not like those times. There were no tea and biscuits and the Headmaster did not twinkle.

Dumbledore rose from his chair and walked calmly around the desk to look at the boy more closely. Most would have thought he was Harry if the real Harry wasn’t standing immediately to the boy’s right. James shifted nervously and tried to avoid the Headmaster’s eye; he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he couldn’t help feel this was somehow his fault.

“It is good to see you again, James,” Dumbledore said and patted the boy on the shoulder. “And Sirius, you are looking well.”

“Feeling well, too, Professor,” Sirius grinned. It was easy for him to be flippant since James was getting all the scrutiny.

“What is going on?” Lily shrieked. “There are two of them!”

“Ah, not so,” Dumbledore smiled kindly and gestured her forward with his good hand. “Lily, I would like you to meet Harry.”

She stared hard at Harry then at James then at Harry again. “So you didn’t transfigure your eyes to look like mine, then?”

“No,” he said. He didn’t know how much she knew or how much he was allowed to say. “I inherited them from my mother.”

“Weird, they’re just like mine,” she was leaning in close. Close enough to make James jealous and Harry incredibly uncomfortable. She was his mother and he was certain that she had held him and kissed him, but he had never really known her.

Sirius coughed loudly and brought Lily back to her senses. “Sorry,” she apologized awkwardly and took a step back.

“Please,” Professor McGonagall said, “can we try to sort out what is going on? Is it time travel again, Albus? You remember what happened the last time some student got the bright idea to skip ahead to get the answers to NEWTs.”

“No, Professor. It’s my fault,” Hermione admitted with some effort and brought the book forward. “I read from this book. I think it brought the dead back to life.”

Dumbledore accepted the book and placed it on his desk to look through. It was a nod to his authority that not one of them thought it odd that he only approached the book with one hand whileleaving the other carefully concealed inside his sleeve. He quickly read through the book. Then he returned to the story of the orphan raising his dead parents from the ground. This story he read through several times, examining the brief rhyming couplet the boy used as his spell. He turned the page slowly and studied the grotesque illustration of the dead father climbing from his grave, and read the poem that had so interested Harry.

“You read aloud this spell,” he said slowly.

“Yes, Professor.”

“I am surprised at you, Miss Granger,” he said. “A witch as clever as you ought to know better.”

“It’s a Muggle book!” she insisted. “I borrowed it from the library in Westgate!”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “This book may be a Muggle printing, Miss Granger, but the original was as magical as any you will find here in our library.”

Hermione’s eyes grew enormous in her guilt and she stuttered sounds that made no actual words. She was spared further humiliation by the fireplace. The flames flared emerald green, making everyone but Dumbledore jump in surprise and alarm. A figure, tall and thin climbed from the grate and dusted himself off as he walked toward the Headmaster.

“Hello, Harry,” Remus Lupin greeted the boy who stared at him with round eyes and his jaw hanging down around his chest. “Albus, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Damn, Moony!” Sirius commented loudly. “You got old!”

Remus whirled around at the familiar but impossible voice and saw Sirius, young and cocky. He saw, too, the Harry he had greeted staring at him with disbelief equaling his own and the real Harry smiling sheepishly beside him. “Time travel?” Remus asked, his eyebrow rising with his curiosity.

“Nothing so simple, I’m afraid, Remus,” Dumbledore shook his head. “Miss Granger has just brought this to our attention. See for yourself.”

Remus tore his eyes away from his old school friends and looked at the book on the desk; he chuckled softly to himself, of course it would be a book if it was from Hermione. He read the poem and examined the illustration and flipped back through the pages as Dumbledore and Harry had before him. He grew paler with each word and when he finally spoke his voice was a terrified whisper, “Die Todesser Chroniken?”

“Then we are in agreement,” Dumbledore said gravely.

“What does that mean?” Ron whispered to Hermione.

“The Deatheater Chronicles,” Remus told him.

“Death Eater?” Harry said and looked hard at Hermione.

“But it’s a Muggle book,” Hermione insisted weakly. “No harm ever came from reading a Muggle book.”

“The original was lost ages ago, but copies have been found,” Remus explained, ignoring the amazed looks he was getting from James and Sirius. “This book is what likely gave Voldemort the idea for the name of his followers. It’s, as I’m sure you’ve read, a collection of folk stories from what’s now Germany, well before the invasion of Rome some two thousand years ago. It’s old wizarding tales and spells. Most are harmless and useless as they’ve been so badly translated over the years,” he smiled sadly, “but some are accurate enough that a witch or wizard with a strong enough mind could make them work.”

“How do I fix it?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon,” Sirius broke into their discussion in a tone of absolute authority that made no apology despite his words, “but I am as alive as anyone here, and I think I ought to have a say in whether this gets ‘fixed’. You’re talking about sending us back to the grave. I think you ought to ask me if I want to be killed a second time!”

Remus laughed. “I forgot how stubborn you could be.”

“Especially where breathing is involved, mate,” Sirius said and fell into a chair, crossing his legs and looking as comfortable and elegant as he ever did.

Lily came up and poked Remus in the shoulder with a cautious finger. He turned and looked at her, only to have her pinch his cheek and pull at the skin, feeling the slight give that would not have been there in a teenager’s face.

“You are old,” she said, confused.

“Lily,” he smiled. “You’re alive, too?”

“Never realized I was dead,” she said with a hysterical laugh that was verging on a sob. Remus reached out and pulled her into a comforting hug. She was so distressed she allowed it, even though he was one of James’s friends.

“Remus,” Dumbledore brought him back to their discussion. “I fear there be more here than the return of old friends.”

“The source of evil,” Harry said.

“Oh, like you know!” James snorted.

“I’ve had some experience in evil, thanks,” Harry glared at him. “Remember the killing curse? Voldemort?”

James just snorted again and folded his arms.

Dumbledore chose to ignore their petty bickering and focus on Harry’s initial response. “Yes, Harry. The source of evil. However, there is hope that it had been mistranslated.” He looked to Remus, who had released Lily and returned his attention to the book. “A more accurate translation would be most helpful.”

“The oldest known copy is in in the Bodleian’s rare book collection. I saw it there not too long ago,” Remus commented. “I’ll have it here before lunch.”

Hermione raised her hand as if she were in class. “I’m sorry, but no one can borrow books from the Bod. Even the King of England was denied borrowing privileges!”

Remus practically smirked. “This is more borrowing without permission. Harry, might I borrow your invisibility cloak?”

Harry nodded, “Of course.”

“Brilliant!” Sirius commented and jumped from his chair. He wrapped an arm around his old friend’s shoulder to pull him into a conspiratorial discussion. “You’ve gotten more devious in your old age. Is there any chance of convincing you to try The Department of Magical Games and Sports Caper again? I was always so disappointed that didn’t work out.”

Remus laughed. He hadn’t thought of that failed attempt to break into the Ministry since their fifth year. What made a bunch of fifteen-year-olds think they had the skills necessary to break into the Ministry of Magic was beyond him. He looked at Harry, who had managed to do it just last year. That had been when Sirius died. The realization tempered his mood and brought him back to reality.

Sirius was dead. Whatever this boy was, it was not real. If felt real and sounded real, but it was not. “I like to think of it as maturing,” Remus said quietly.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “We may have some answers well before dinner.”

Everyone stepped from his path as he walked to the door and opened it. “Professor McGonagall, I believe you and your students are late for class.”

“Of course, Albus,” she said. “Harry, Hermione, Ronald, come along now.”

“I meant all your students,” Albus gestured to the other three as well.

Minerva McGonagall looked them over. They were ghosts despite being solid. “You can’t be serious, Albus.”

“Perfectly serious, Minerva,” he smiled and the twinkle returned to his eye. “Until we are absolutely certain that these students are really returned from the dead, we cannot deny them their education.”

“What else could they be?”

“We have both lived through more than one time traveling fiasco, Minerva,” he smiled and shook his head as he remembered. “I will treat them as living, breathing students until I have seen irrefutable evidence to the contrary.”

“Of course,” she said again and gestured all the students to the door. “You, too, Mr Potter.”

Somehow James knew she was addressing him and not the other Mr Potter. “I’ll be along in a moment, Professor. I just wanted a quick word with Remus.” He put on his most innocent face and the old witch left, but not without studying his intentions through narrowed eyes.

As soon as he was alone with Remus and Dumbledore, he ran up and smacked the aged Remus on the head. “No touching my future wife, Moony!”


	9. Meet the Porters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lily Evans learns the truth about Harry and wastes no time in getting maternal.

The room was deathly silent. It was normally quiet for the stern Professor McGonagall, but never more so than that morning. Every student sat stock-still, too amazed by the new arrivals to so much as blink. Sirius looked perfectly at ease with the attention, hands in his pockets and serene smile on his face. He winked at the girls nearest before locking eyes with Hermione and offering her a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrow that made her blush. Lily and James, by contrast, had never felt so nervous or looked so awkward. James’s only comfort was the look of absolute horror on the pale, pointy-faced Slytherin who had poked him in his bruised face.

“Class, I would like to introduce three new students,” McGonagall said in her most authoritative voice. Harry had learned from experience that she only brought that particular tone out when she was nervous or lying. “These are… the Porters.”

Seamus dared raise his hand. “Are you related to Harry?”

“Er… sort of…” James muttered and glared across to the boy who was supposedly his son. Harry was nearly blue from holding in his laughter. The ginger beside him was no better.

“Cousins,” Sirius said and smiled so confidently that everyone accepted it. The obvious resemblance between James and Harry helped the lie along. With some more staring, which they endured throughout the entire class period despite McGonagall’s warnings, the sixth year students could spy a similarity between the other two and Harry, in the texture and color of Sirius’s hair and the color of Lily’s eyes and the shape of her nose.

“How are you related to Harry?” Lavender asked Sirius as he slid into the seat beside Hermione.

He glanced over at James. “Through his father’s side.”

“Oh,” Lavender said with far too much enthusiasm. She was leaning toward him eagerly, but her face fell when he draped an arm around Hermione. The brainy girl didn’t flinch, as if this were perfectly normal, everyday occurance. Lavender turned several unflattering shades before she turned her attention back to McGonagall.

Lily kept her head down and didn’t speak to anyone but James, which he found to be a perfectly acceptable way to behave. He grew more comfortable as the period went by. No one recognized them for who they were. They were all so accepting of them as Harry’s distant family.

“Must be annoying looking like the ‘Famous Harry Potter’,” Seamus said with sarcastic quote marks to show how stupid he thought it was. Harry was just a bloke same as the rest of them. “Do reporters hound you thinking you’re him? What’s it like being related to the Potters?”

James just shrugged.

“If you’re related to Harry,” Neville asked. “How come he had to go live with Muggles instead of with you?”

Lily just stared at him, not understanding the question.

“Mr Longbottom, your mouse is escaping,” the teacher informed him. The boy scrambled after it as Professor McGonagall sighed and shook her head. The boy had stood up to Death Eaters, but he still bumbled around a classroom like a first year.

With Neville sufficiently distracted, Lily leaned over and whispered. “What are they talking about?”

James tried very hard not to be distracted by the smell of her hair and concentrated on answering. “Harry’s parents were killed by Voldemort. I guess he went to live with Muggle relatives.”

“But reporters? The Famous Potters?” she couldn’t even put her confused thoughts into words.

“The git managed to not die when Voldemort threw a killing curse at him,” James shrugged and tried to play it off as a minor accomplishment. He knew he ought to be proud and happy knowing his son had done the impossible, but he just thought of Harry as the git who kept getting in his way and who beat him in a fight.

She glanced back at Harry as he tried to transfigure his mouse into a lemur. His face was contorted in concentration and she noticed how his nose wrinkled up in just the same way as hers. He really didn’t look as much like James as she had originally thought. His eyes and nose were the same as hers. If she and James had a son, he would probably turn out to look exactly like Harry.

At the thought she spun around. “Hey, what’s the name of those Muggle relatives of Harry’s?”

“The Dursleys, I think,” Neville said. “Surprised you didn’t know.”

“They’re not related to us,” James explained quickly and pulled Lily close to whisper to her. “What are you doing?”

“Dursley…” she said. “That’s the name of my sister’s boyfriend. Vernon Dursley.”

“So?”

“They all said we were dead,” she stared at him. “Harry has to live with relatives with my sister’s boyfriend’s last name.”

James just swallowed. He knew where she was heading with her thoughts.

“He has my eyes, James… and your last name,” she stared at him, handsome James Potter whom she had avoided dating for years. He avoided her eye, but nodded just the same.

Lily looked away, not able to think straight any more. It was insane. The whole idea of being dead seemed nothing compared to the ludicrous notion that she would actually agree to marry that cocky idiot. She focused her whole attention on transfiguring her mouse and by the end of class only she and Hermione had successfully completed the assignment. This was no feat of skill, but one of pure determination on Lily’s part.

Sirius strolled up and smirked, “Looks as if you’ve seen a ghost, Lily.”

“Funny,” she grumbled and pushed past him to reach Harry. She grabbed his arm and hauled him back into the classroom, now empty of all but his friends and resurrected family.

 “How do they not recognize us if we’re so famous for being killed?” she asked in a low voice.

Harry shrugged. “I dunno.”

Save Hermione, none of the students had the initiative to search out information on the first wizarding war with Voldemort. The ones born to magical families had grown up hearing about Harry Potter and just accepted the events as their parents had described it. None knew what James or Lily looked like, so there was little chance of them being recognized, especially since they had been brought back so much younger.

Even knowing what they looked like, Harry hadn’t known them. Images, even moving wizard photographs, failed to capture their personalities. So when he was presented with the real thing, he didn’t see them for what they were.

“You live with my sister Petunia?” Lily asked.

Harry nodded. “And Uncle Vernon and their son Dudley.” He tried to keep the grimace from his face as he said the names, but she caught it anyway.

“Do they treat you alright?”

“Yeah, they’re great.”

“You’re lying,” she said flatly. “You do that same thing with your nose that James does when he lies.”

“I do not!” Harry insisted, though he had no idea what James did with his nose when he was being untruthful. He was just going to deny any connection to that git on sheer stubbornness.

“Don’t you lie to me, Harry Potter!” she stared him down.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry muttered.

“The truth, young man. Now!”

“They’re awful. My bedroom was a cupboard until I was eleven. They talk about me like I’m something nasty that’s too stupid to understand. Dudley’s favorite sport is still Harry Hunting. And the best gift they ever gave me was a fifty pence coin taped to a card,” Harry was shocked that so much truth had spilled out when all he intended to say was that the Dursleys were awful. Her glare had drawn it out of him.

“I’ll have to have a word with that sister of mine,” Lily said and marched toward the owlery.

“No!” Harry chased after her. “You’re dead. Do you have any idea what would happen if Aunt Petunia got a letter from her dead sister?”

Lily considered it and sighed. “Fine, but I don’t like it one bit. I thought she was better than that,” she stalked off muttering to herself about family and responsibility.

Sirius draped an arm over Harry’s shoulder as he watched her leave. “Never thought you’d be so happy that she died young, did you? Can you imagine that woman’s reaction when you brought home your first girlfriend?”


	10. Where are They Now?

Ron scowled across the table at Sirius. He was hanging all over Hermione again, and worse he wasn’t even smirking at Ron when he did it. That morning, Ron was certain it was all a show put on just to annoy him, but now the boy who was Harry’s Godfather was pressed so close to Hermione that she might as well have been sitting in his lap. And neither one was glancing his way. They were speaking to each other in low whispers that made Hermione blush. It was indecent.

“What’s your problem?”

“Look at that!” Ron whispered. “If I did that, she’d hex me into next week.”

“Did you ever try?”

He looked over and saw that it was James talking and not Harry as he originally thought. They sounded nearly identical, especially in the clattering din of the Great Hall; he was going to have to be more careful what he said around Harry in case it wasn’t actually Harry. The boy waited, his hazel eyes narrowed as he studied Ron’s face. He had to admit, “No.”

“Then you’ve no right to complain, have you?”

“Yes, I most certainly have!” Ron insisted a bit too loudly. He looked over sheepishly, but saw that the object of his ire hadn’t even noticed the outburst, too busy were they flirting with one another. “That is one of my very best friends and your git of a mate is just going to hurt her. Dumbledore’ll figure this out and send you three back where you belong and that’ll leave her—”

“Sad and in need of a big, strong oaf to comfort her,” James finished for him. “So quit you’re whining.”

Ron glared at him, but didn’t say anything back. He continued to watch the pair, growing more annoyed by the second at Hermione’s behavior.

Had she been willing to tear her attention away from Sirius, Hermione would have informed Ron that she was just as shocked by her behavior as he was. Somewhere very near the front of her mind she knew this was strange, flirting with Harry’s Godfather, but she thought it harmless play. Not since Viktor Krum had anybody treated her as more than a friend or walking encyclopedia. It was nice to be thought of as a girl pretty enough to be asked on a date. She was pained that Ron hadn’t asked her out yet.

It was made so much more devastating by the fact that she had been putting forth a real effort in the last year to be more attractive, to tame her hair as much as she could and try not to look as if she had spent all her time digging through the dustiest sections of the library, even if that’s what she really was doing. Ginny noticed and commented on it loudly in the common room on more than one occasion, hoping to draw attention to Hermione’s improved looks, but it had no effect on any of the boys who had spent so much time with the bushy-haired, buck-tooth bookworm.

Sirius, however, didn’t need the obvious pointed out to him in a very loud voice. He saw Hermione and not as a friend or someone to look over his Herbology essay to correct his errors. To his observant grey eye, she was something worth pursuing. Perhaps it was the canine instinct, but he was not going to stop even if she asked him to. Questionable existence be damned, he was going to get the girl.

“Are we still on for next Saturday?” Sirius asked.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to… knowing who you were… or are going to be…” she said quietly.

He laughed. “Like I care who I was or will be. I care about who I am. And who I am is a bloke very keen on going out with you.”

She blushed at the compliment and ducked her head behind her slightly tamed curls. “Okay.”

“That wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as I’d like, but I’ll take it,” he grinned.

Hermione liked his grin. It was something she had seen very little of on his older self. The years in Azkaban had stolen it away and the time spent in hiding gave the man precious little to grin about. When Sirius grinned, she felt as if he was a different person entirely to the man he had known. That somehow made it different than flirting with Harry’s Godfather.

“So where are we going?” she asked, trying to keep the grin on his face. He always seemed to grin when she showed an interest in him or their plans for dinner. She was not disappointed. His grin grew sly and sexy, more like a fox than a dog.

“Where would be the fun in telling you? It would completely ruin the surprise.”

“I’m not big on surprises,” she admitted, but smiled all the same.

“You’ll like my surprises. I’m the reigning King of Surprises,” he proclaimed with pride. “Isn’t that so, Prongs?”

“Only because no one else would have dared charm Professor Gamble’s chair to run away when he tried to sit in it at dinner,” James laughed and shook his head.

“That man had it coming,” Sirius insisted. “Even Moony agreed.”

Hermione didn’t know a Professor Gamble, but couldn’t imagine anyone, even the Weasley Twins attempting such a stunt. “Why?”

“He ruined Moony’s favorite subject, Defence Against the Dark Arts,” he told her. “Boring as hell. Worse than Binns.”

“Is that even possible?” Ron commented, eager to keep the conversation public and prevent the pair from descending into flirtatious whispers again.

Sirius just nodded.

“How do you know Moony?” James asked. The obvious friendship had been bothering him since the man arrived in the fireplace. He assumed it was because he was a friend to James and had taken care of his son. However, if the way Harry described his Aunt and Uncle was any indication, he suspected they wouldn’t have allowed Remus anywhere near the boy. That annoyed him greatly, despite his dislike of Harry. He looked across to the boy and studied him; he wasn’t at all like James, he was missing the air of a well-loved boy that James had. He obviously had a bit of cheek when he was provoked; it was probably genetic. James wondered if he would have been as daring as he was if his parents had not been so doting and forgiving.

“He was our professor a few years ago, Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Harry commented, and tried not to squirm as his father eyed him.

“You owe me ten Galleons!” Sirius declared. “I called it!”

“No!” James countered. “You said he would be the Transfiguration professor, Peter said he’d be DADA.”

“Bollocks,” Sirius replied. “A professor is a professor, you owe me.”

The legendary James Potter sent him a rude gesture across the table, which made Hermione laugh.

James looked at her like she was batty. “What?”

“Nothing,” she insisted through her giggles.

“What?” He demanded, rather annoyed at being laughed at.

“Do you have any idea how many books I’ve read that mention you?” she asked, still smiling. “You’re in every single book on defence and modern wizarding events, your death diagrammed and dissected at length. You are positively mythical….”

He wanted to beam with pride at being so important, but found himself fidgeting instead. To have his death be that thing that was remembered about him was not something to revel in. “So?”

“They never once talked about you being so… normal,” she laughed again and imagined the books if they had written about this James Potter. “‘James Charlus Potter was killed by Voldemort in 1981. He was known to his friends to be a git who placed bets on how their smartest friend would spend the rest of his life and was frequently seen sending rude and inappropriate gestures to anyone that looked at him funny.’”

James smiled. Yeah, that was how he imagined being remembered.

“Don’t forget about being the prat who levitated Snivellus Snape into the highest branches of the beech near the lake. How long did he hang by his ankle before Evans let him down?” Sirius grinned.

“Four hours,” James nodded. “Lost consciousness after two, though. I was impressed he held out that long.”

Hermione’s smile fell immediately. “That’s not funny, you two. And if you try anything like that again, I’ll make you wish I never brought you back from the dead.”

“Like there’s any chance of running into that greasy git again,” James laughed.

“Um…” Harry said. “Actually, Snape is our DADA teacher this year.”

The Marauders stared, in horror at first then the glint of mischief began to glow in their eyes. Snape, a Professor with an office filled any number of objects they could transfigure or charm. Gamble’s run-away chair would be nothing compared to what they could do to Professor Snape. Harry swore that he could practically hear the gears turning and the wicked laughter in their brains. It was unsettling, but somehow very exciting to see.

Sirius smirked, “I don’t know about you, Mr Prongs, but I’m suddenly very eager to attend DADA.”

“I agree with you entirely, Mr Padfoot,” James grinned devilishly.

“Oh, and you now owe me twenty Galleons,” Sirius said.

“No, you said he would be at Durmstrang teaching Dark Arts,” James threw a chip across at him, “not that he would be at Hogwarts teaching Defence.”

“A professor is a professor,” Sirius threw the chip back at him. “Pay up.”


	11. Ties That Bind

James felt the swelling of pride in his chest as he saws Harry enter the Great Hall with a broom over his shoulder. His son played Quidditch. That more than surviving any curse was enough to make him want to like the git, though the pain that shot through his jaw when he smiled was enough to dull the pride and bring back the annoyance. It was nearly a week and the bruises still marred his face and side and made him wince when he laughed. Sirius, being the good friend that he was, saw James’s pain and went out of his way to make him laugh every chance he got.

“Oi! Potter,” James called despite the pain it brought him. Harry walked over, a mixture of annoyance and amusement on his face. His own father was calling him by his surname, like Malfoy.

“What?”

“Is it Quidditch practice?”

“No,” Harry said, remembering his father had played for the team, too. “Tryouts.” He sat on the bench next to him and set the broom down at the center of the table. James admired it without shame.

“Hagrid’s not at the staff table again,” Ron pointed out.

“He’s been avoiding us in the hall, too,” Harry said. “Have you noticed?”

“We’ve got to explain,” Hermione insisted.

Ron slumped in his seat. He was already nervous about Quidditch tryouts. “We’ve got too much to do right now.”

“We’ll go after Quidditch,” Harry said, then remembered how many names were on the list for tryouts. “Trials might take all morning, though. So many people signed up. I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Hermione said as if he were thick as treacle. “It’s not the team. It’s you that’s popular! Everyone knows you’re telling the truth. And now the prophecy… you’ve never been more interesting or more fanciable.”

Ron gagged on a kipper and Sirius suddenly felt a deep dislike for Harry, one that he hadn’t felt a second earlier.

Hermione shook her head at Ron’s disgusting eating habits and kept talking. “Everyone knows that you’ve fought Voldemort twice and escaped both times. Now suddenly you’re ‘the Chosen One’. Everyone’s fascinated by you. How can you not see that?”

Harry tugged at his jumper, which was making him very hot and uncomfortable. James had turned his admiring eye from the broom to Harry. His son was ‘the Chosen One’? The pain in his jaw was a point of pride now. His son could punch so hard it would leave a bruise that hurt a week later.

As Hermione continued, James grew more amazed and Sirius more irritated. She kept talking about Umbridge and the Ministry and Harry’s height. Ron vied for her attention and failed to receive it. Sirius just glared daggers at the ginger and at Harry. She was Harry’s friend and shouldn’t be mentioning such things. He would never talk about James being fanciable, even if he knew it to be true. It’s a friend’s job to take the Mickey out of his mates, not make them more self-important. Or maybe they just acted that way because James was a pompous git most of the time.

He was exceedingly pleased when the post arrived and the trio’s conversation turned to darker material. The three sixth years who belonged in this time were far better acquainted with the evils going on outside of the school than James or Sirius had been in their time. Voldemort was just gathering to his full strength as they entered their sixth year, but that had meant little to them. They were both from pure-blood families and had little to fear from the Dark Wizard.

These three, however, talked like it was their personal mission to fight the wizard and everything he stood for. Sirius, despite not caring for how fanciable Hermione thought him, was impressed by Harry.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked.

Harry looked at him like it was obvious. “He killed my parents. I know you aren’t fond of your mum, but would you care if he killed James’s mum and dad?”

Sirius stared at him as if seeing the boy for the first time. He really wasn’t anything like James. “Yeah, I’d care.”

“Come on, Harry,” Ron said. “Tryouts.” He pushed away from the table and stood.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered.

“You’ll do fine,” Hermione assured him.

“What position are you trying for?” James asked.

Harry smirked. “I’m not trying for anything. I’m Captain.”

“Yes!” James leapt at him and pulled him into a hug. “That’s my boy!”

“Gerroff!”

“Yes, sir,” James grinned and saluted.

“Git,” Harry muttered and grabbed his Firebolt from the table.

“That broom… can I try it?”

“So you like me just fine now that I have a fast broom?”  Harry shook his head.

“It’s not just the broom, though that is gorgeous. Where’d you get it?”

Harry pointed at Sirius. “It was a gift.”

“I have excellent taste,” Sirius smiled and slid an arm around Hermione as they walked, “in all matters.”

Harry and James led the way to the Quidditch pitch. James grilled Harry on his experience the whole way, demanding to know what position he played, how many times he had caught the snitch, the winning average and common pitfalls of the previous roster. Harry felt surprisingly good as he walked onto the pitch. Talking to James made him realize that he was pretty well-qualified for the job of Captain. Trials still took too long and were a complete fiasco thanks to Harry’s fame and fanciability.

“Why doesn’t he just dismiss the first years straight away?” James snorted.

“He started on the team in his first year,” Hermione told him. “He wouldn’t assume any of them aren’t good enough.”

“In his first year…” James said with quiet wonder as he looked out at Harry, who was yelling at the assembled group of students. “Damn.”

“He’s shaming you, Prongs.”

“No, he’s doing his father proud,” James corrected.

Hermione just smiled and tried to ignore the rude words coming from Cormac McLaggen sitting just in front of her. She hoped he wasn’t any good, because if he made the team he would absolutely murder morale. Everything that came out of him was insulting and, quite frankly, disgusting.

“Think he’ll let me play as a stand-in if someone’s injured?” James asked.

“Course he won’t,” Sirius grinned. “You two got into a fist fight.”

James waved the comment away. “That was before. This is now.”

“What’s the difference?” Hermione asked.

“We’re blokes,” James said as if that were explanation enough. “It’s what blokes do.”

She just looked at him as if he were missing some of his brain. He was saved Hermione’s opinion as Ginny took the pitch.

“Ooh, who is that?” James asked.

“Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister.”

The girl tied her long hair back and James noticed the way Harry’s eyes stayed on her a bit too long. He grinned and elbowed Sirius. “My boy fancies her.”

Sirius didn’t care, he had his own girl to fancy, but he couldn’t help but watch as Ginny outshined everyone else on a broom, scoring more goals than the rest of the hopefuls put together. “She’s better than you, Prongs.”

They compared the rest of the chosen team to students in their own time. Hermione was only half listening, as she was waiting for Harry to call the Keepers to trial. It was already late in the morning and he still hadn’t called them yet. The stands were growing more crowded as students were coming down from breakfast. Ron was looking greener with each passing minute. He would be last to try out after the large and boastful McLaggen.

The burly idiot took to his broom and blocked the first four Quaffles with ease. If he blocked the last, Ron would lose all hope. She pulled her wand from her sleeve and pointed it at the would-be Keeper. Only one person in the crowd was paying enough attention to her to see it and to hear her cast the spell quietly. McLaggen flew in the wrong direction and let the Quaffle into the unguarded goal.

“Yes!” Hermione cheered.

“I saw that,” Sirius commented quietly in her ear.

“No, you didn’t.” She smiled and watched as Ron took to the air.

“Good luck!” a girl shouted from the stands. Hermione looked over and saw Lavender ducking her face. Some small part of Hermione was very annoyed, but a larger part was too busy noticing that Sirius was pulling her closer and trying to draw her attention away from watching Ron guard the high hoops. That part was very happy and didn’t care if Lavender was cheering for the boy she had a crush on for years.

It should have worried her that she was so eager to attach herself to a ghost, but it was so easy to forget that he wasn’t real. He was solid, as his arm around her proved. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, his breath on her neck. Surely if a beating heart and working lungs didn’t indicate life, then nothing did. By all scientific indicators, he was alive.

The fraction of her brain that still clung to rationality knew that he would have to leave. Dumbledore or Lupin would sort out exactly what had brought these three ghosts back to them; they would find the spell to return them to whatever afterlife they were residing in and Hermione would be left without anyone. Ron would have Lavender, Harry would have Ginny and she would have no one. That thought made her cling to him even more ardently.

Tryouts ended with a successfully filled roster that once again included two Weasleys. The beaters might not be as good as Fred and George, but Harry was positive that, with practice, they would easily do some damage to the other teams.

“Have to visit Hagrid,” Hermione said, sounding none too pleased.

“I got the impression you lot were friends with him,” James said.

“We are,” she said. “That’s what’s wrong. We’re not taking his class this year. He’s got to be upset with us.”

James just nodded while he tried to figure out what class that giant of a man was qualified to teach. In his day Hagrid was just the gamekeeper who kept odd and dangerous animals in his pumpkin patch and chased idiots like James and his friends away from the forest. Last he checked that was not usually among the skills listed on the CVs of most professors. But if Hermione said he was a professor, then James would believe her. She was clearly the Lupin of her trio.


	12. Tea & Detention

Ron and Harry met them outside the Gryffindor locker room. It was clear that Ron was on a high from winning a spot on the team; he grinningly dissected every save he made during the tryouts, and James only encouraged him, comparing one save to Darian Fenton, the Keeper on his Gryffindor team. James didn’t know it, but Darian Fenton went on to play Keeper for Puddlemere United. Ron beamed all the way down the lawn and only stopped smiling when Hagrid’s hut came into view.

“Oh dear,” Hermione gripped Sirius’s arm painfully tight. “He’s still a bit scary.”

He followed her eye and saw the enormous hippogriff tethered in front of the cabin. He’d only ever seen one in a book and never imaged they would be so large. The animal turned his avian head toward them imperiously and his eyes grew wide. He rose on equine legs and came as close as the lead would allow, bowing to Sirius.

“What am I supposed to do?” Sirius whispered still looking into the animal’s eyes, afraid that breaking eye contact would result in his second death.

“Bow back,” Harry said. Sirius did as instructed and bowed low. “Go on and pet him.”

“What?”

“Pet him,” Harry repeated. “He’ll be insulted if you don’t.”

Sirius fought his nerves down, forcing his hand not to shake as he reached out to pet the grey feathers of the hippogriff’s head. “Why did he bow to me?”

“He was sort of your pet,” Hermione said. “Or friend, rather.” She corrected when Buckbeak clicked his sharp beak irritably at her use of the word ‘pet’. Sirius nodded and accepted the brief, though rather vague answer. There was more to it and he would ask her later when he wasn’t afraid to look away from the hippogriff’s eyes.

“Oi!” Hagrid shouted. “Clear off! He’ll have yer fingers. Oh…” The giant looked ridiculous in his flowery apron, but no one dared laugh at him. “James, Sirius, would yeh care fer some tea?”

“Yes,” James said, not daring to turn him down. He hurried up the steps and into the hut after Hagrid. Sirius followed. Hagrid slammed the door shut after them, locking the other three outside with Buckbeak.

“Well, that went well,” Ron commented.

“Come on.” Harry marched up the steps and banged on the door. “Hagrid! Open up! We want to talk to you! If you don’t open the door we’ll blast it open!”

The door swung wide and Hagrid glowered down at him. “How dare yeh threaten teh break down a teacher’s door, Potter?”

“I’m sorry, _sir_.”

“Since when have yeh called me ‘sir’?”

“Since you started calling me ‘Potter’.”

“Very clever,” Hagrid grumbled and went back to the kettle, leaving the door open for them to enter. He muttered about ungrateful kids and smartarses as he dropped the large copper kettle on the heat.

Hagrid had invited them in, but James and Sirius felt as if they were intruding. More than anything that had happened to them since arriving in this time, this odd scene made them feel like they didn’t belong. There was a relationship between these four and they were now trapped in a very awkward moment. Neither dared to speak or leave. They occupied two chairs silently and even Sirius managed to make himself small and unnoticeable.

The conversation played out before them as Hermione tried to convince Hagrid they wanted to take his class, but their schedules just wouldn’t allow it. The gamekeeper-turned-professor just attacked his potatoes and snorted and scoffed and eventually burst into tears over something called Aragog.

“What’s an Aragog?” Sirius whispered to Harry, who was nearest.

“Giant talking spider that tried to eat us in our second year,” Harry muttered.

“Damn, everybody’s trying to kill you! You must be more annoying than James,” Sirius smirked.

“Oi!” James and Harry protested in chorus.

Sirius just smirked at them. They weren’t the same, but sometimes they were identical. He loved it.

The mood lightened shortly after and conversation turned to other things, specifically to James and Sirius. Hagrid was quite eager to know how they were back from the dead. James wondered why everyone was so quick to tell them things about their lives. What if, he wondered, we had time traveled? Wouldn’t all this information be damaging to the events of the past? He knew the exact date he died, for crying out loud. He knew the exact location of his death. What was to stop him, if he were a time traveler, from just being somewhere very far away with his wife and son on that particular date?

James was so distracted, he didn’t even notice that the others were rising to leave. Sirius had to kick him back to reality. Hagrid patted him so firmly on the shoulder that his knees buckled and he stumbled down the steps.

Harry caught him before he fell into Buckbeak’s bowl of ferrets. “You get the hang of it with practice,” Harry assured him.

“Right.”

“I’m starving,” Harry commented. “I don’t even have time for a real dinner. Damn detention.”

“Takes after you more than we thought, Prongs,” Sirius muttered and then spoke to everyone. “Detention in your second week?”

Harry shrugged. “Snape.”

It was explanation enough for them. They walked ahead of Harry and his friends into the Great Hall but paused when they heard Slughorn speaking to Harry in the doorway. His words implied the conversation was meant to be private, but he spoke so loudly that everyone in the entrance hall could hear him. He was talking of the Slug Club dinner that Hermione had to attend. She had turned Sirius down for a date because of it.

“He’s got no chance of persuading Snape,” Harry said and shook his head as he watched the round professor head off.

“He doesn’t have to,” James smirked. “You go. I’m dying to see how Snivellus treats my boy.”

“Git,” Harry muttered, but when the smirk and mischievous spark didn’t fade from his face Harry realized he wasn’t joking. “You’re serious?”

James stole the glasses from Harry’s face and traded them for his own. “The greasy git will never notice,” James declared and went into the Great Hall for dinner.

Harry shrugged. He didn’t really want to attend the Slug Club dinner, but if it meant not having to deal with Snape all evening, he was game. Ron glowered and followed him into the Great Hall. Not only was he not invited to the dinner, he didn’t have a teenage father capable of taking his place for anything unpleasant. He was in a foul mood and barely spoke through dinner. When they sat in the common room later, he just folded his arms and ignored the conversation going on before him, even though it was about Malfoy and his plotting.

James and Sirius watched Harry and Hermione’s discussion as if it were a spectator sport, their eyes bouncing from one to the other as they spoke and discussed this Malfoy bloke. James was sure his plans against Snivellus were never this dark or complex.

“Oh, drop it, Harry,” Ron said, clearly annoyed about more than just the conversation.

Harry realized it, too, and laid into him as only a friend would. “It’s not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to a stupid party neither of us was to go to!

Showing himself to be the youngest and most immature brother of his family, Ron glared at him. “As I’m not invited to any parties, I think I’ll go to bed.” He stomped off.

“Git,” Sirius muttered.

“Harry?” the new Chaser, Demelza Robins appeared at James’s shoulder. “I’ve got a message for you.”

“Yeah?” James smiled.

“It’s from Professor Snape,” the Chaser said apologetically.

“No worries,” James assured her. “When and where?”

“His office at half past eight tonight.” She seemed to shrink as she spoke. “Sorry, Harry.”

“Not your fault,” James said. “Thanks, er…”

“Demelza,” Harry whispered.

“Thanks, Demelza,” James said quickly.

He hopped up from his chair with far too much enthusiasm for a boy about to serve detention. He ruffled his hair to make it as untidy as Harry’s and pushed the glasses up on his nose. The bridge was a bit too wide and they kept sliding down. But James could make anything cool, including pushing glasses up. How come Harry couldn’t do that?

“You don’t have to,” Harry said. “I don’t really want to go to the stupid party.”

“Oh, shut up,” James pushed him back into the chair and strolled off.

“He’s going to get me more detention, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” Sirius smirked. “Bet you a Galleon you have detention for the next month when he’s done with Snape.”

“I’ll pass,” Harry said grimly.

The boy who looked too much like Harry to be easily distinguished walked with his distinctive strut up to Snape’s door and knocked loudly. He didn’t know how Harry would knock, probably with less force. The door swung open and Snape’s voice, as oily as his hair, came out to greet him.

“Mr Potter, do come in.”

James didn’t know what he expected to find, but he wasn’t particularly surprised when he saw Snape’s office or Snape himself. The man was tall and sallow-skinned, his hair still hung in his face and his nose was, impossibly, more prominent than it had been twenty years earlier. He still looked as if some long-forgotten ancestor of his had a secret affair with a spider. His office was dark and filled with disturbing things pickled or preserved in jars, all of which looked like upside down cow fetuses to James. Everything that met his eye was grotesque.

“So glad you could make it with your busy social schedule, Mr Potter,” Snape sneered.

James had a clever retort on his tongue, but bit it back. He wasn’t James, he was Harry. And Harry managed to keep his cheek in check most of the time. He didn’t trust the comment not to come out, so he just nodded.

Snape’s black eyes stared at him and he ducked his head. If anyone would notice the slight differences between them, it would be Snape. He was freakishly observant, and James assumed that skill had only improved with age.

“Over there,” Snape’s long white finger pointed to a table with a foul-smelling barrel on it. “Sort the rotten flobberworms from the good ones. Professor Slughorn requires them for potions class.”

James walked over, strut severely diminished, and held his nose at the smell.

“Get to work, Mr Potter.”

James was sure he had never been set so unpleasant a task in all his years at Hogwarts, and he had plenty of detentions under his belt. This was something that Filch would have dreamed up, not a teacher. This was a personal punishment. Snape properly hated Harry, though he couldn’t image the boy having done anything to him.

“Mr Filch tells me you have taken an interest in breaking into storerooms, Mr Potter,” Snape purred from his desk after only a few minutes had passed. “Are we adding your father’s petty theft skills to your list of inherited traits?”

James ignored him and kept sorting.

“Yes, your father did enjoy stealing what wasn’t his,” Snape continued. “Enjoyed framing others for his crimes even more.”

A smile threatened James’s face and he kept his head down to keep Snape from seeing. He remembered that he stole a bottle of overpriced firewhiskey from Slughorn’s cabinet the night of one of his Slug Club parties. James wasn’t in the Club and had snuck in under the invisibility cloak to see what all the fuss was about. He saw Snivellus standing over the liquor cabinet and James had to help himself to the whiskey. Slughorn blamed Snape and he was never invited to another party again.

“No amount of heroics on the Quidditch pitch could make up for your father’s deficiencies,” Snape crooned almost to himself. “The same could be said of you, Mr Potter.”

James fought to keep his face neutral and his mouth closed. He took his anger out on a flobberworm, gripping it so hard that it burst in his hand. Thankfully it was one of the good ones as the juice and bits flew up and splattered on his jumper.

“Wasteful, Mr Potter,” Snape commented. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

James literally bit his tongue to keep the string of curses from flying from his mouth. Snape had grown into an even bigger git than any of them had expected. If they had bothered placing a bet on it, not one of them would have won the Galleons.

The night continued with Snape making snide comments about James, not realizing he was speaking his insults to James, as well. It took every ounce of self-control James possessed not to hex him or ask him if he’d managed to afford better underpants. He hadn’t come to get Harry into trouble and he was determined to keep his mouth shut.

Finally, thankfully, he ran out of flobberworms to sort. Snape slid up and examined his work.

“So you are capable of succeeding in something, Mr Potter,” the git smirked. “You may go.”

“Yes, sir,” was all James allowed himself to say. 


	13. Bet Your Life

Harry waited up all night in the common room. James never returned. He feared that his father had gotten caught and Snape had killed him for all the torment he had suffered at James’s hands. Or that his father had said something so stupid that Snape hexed him. Or that his father had been so shocked at how Snape treated Harry that he had hexed the professor. He considered all the various possibilities as he waited for the sun to rise.

James wasn’t at breakfast either.

“Where’s James?” Harry asked.

Sirius shrugged. “Haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Actually,” Hermione said as she looked up and down the table. “Where’s Lily? I didn’t see her at all yesterday.”

“This is odd,” Harry said. “We should go see Dumbledore.”

Hermione nodded her agreement and finished her breakfast in a hurry. Ron stubbornly ignored them and slid down the bench closer to Lavender Brown. He was still irate at having been snubbed and he was taking it out on Harry and Hermione as if it had been their fault that Slughorn hadn’t invited him. Harry was too concerned about his missing parents to bother trying to talk sense into his friend.

He shoveled his breakfast in and stood with his mouth still full. Jogging from the Great Hall despite the way the action made his stomach turn. Hermione followed with Sirius at her side. They all but ran through the corridors to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office.

“Chocolate bacon,” Harry said.

“Not the password,” it replied curtly.

Harry balked. “It was two days ago!”

“Well, it’s not anymore.”

“Excuse me,” Hermione said politely. “Is the Headmaster in?”

“No, he’s away.”

“Oh,” she frowned. “Is Professor Lupin in?”

“There is no Professor Lupin here anymore.”

“You know what I mean,” she sighed.

If it could have, the gargoyle would have rolled its eyes. “He’s in.”

“Could you tell him we need to speak to him, please?”

They waited as the stone statue somehow managed to relay the information without actually leaving his post. “Up you get,” it said and leapt aside.

“Thank you.” Harry said impatiently and climbed the stairs two at a time to reach the door as quickly as he could. He pulled the door open and found Remus half-hidden by a teetering pile of thick books. He glanced up and waved them forward.

“Some things never change,” Sirius grinned and read over Remus’ shoulder. “What is that?”

“The oldest known copy of The Deatheater Chronicles,” Remus informed him. “It is rather different from your copy, Hermione.”

“Is that bad?” Hermione asked.

He shrugged. “Right now, it’s just different. Middle English isn’t the easiest thing to wade through, I’m afraid. I’ve only made it halfway through.” Sirius scoffed at his modesty. If he had to translate the book, he wouldn’t have made it past the first page after so little time.

Remus glanced at Harry and Hermione’s concerned faces. “But I don’t think you came to find how the translation is going. What’s the trouble?”

“Lily and James have gone,” Harry informed him, the edge of worry in his voice.

 “Are you sure they aren’t just off together? They were married,” Remus offered.

“Ew, no,” Harry said and waved the thought away before it did any damage to his mind. “He disappeared after he volunteered to go to detention with Snape for me. And we haven’t seen Lily since Friday.”

Remus frowned. “Have you noticed any of the three disappearing before?”

“Yeah, actually,” Harry said. “That night she was supposed to be studying with Hermione. She yelled at me then disappeared. All her notes were gone, too, and she didn’t show up again that night.”

“And Sirius vanished at breakfast,” Hermione added.

“Did I?” Sirius looked at her.

“Yes,” she nodded. “You were there and then I went to sit with Harry and Ron and when we walked past it was like you were never there. I didn’t see you again until that night on the third floor.”

He smirked and leaned closer to her. “You were looking for me?”

“Sirius,” Remus said in a very professorly tone.

“Sorry, I’ll save it for later.” He winked at Hermione. “What does it mean?”

“Well it’s proof that you aren’t time travelers as I was hoping,” Lupin said. “The three of you are not meant to be here. Despite how solid and real you seem, you aren’t stable enough to remain here for long. You simply stop existing temporarily until you have enough substance to return.”

“Then why have they gone and I’m still here?”

“If James sat in your detention, which I’m very ashamed of you for allowing, Harry,” Remus stared hard at him. “Then I imagine it would have taken all his energy not to say anything to Snape that would get you into further trouble.”

“And Lily?” Hermione asked.

“She was really angry when she found out how the Dursleys treat me,” Harry said.

“That would do it,” Remus said.

“And me?” Sirius said. “Why am I still here?”

“You aren’t under any pressure. There’s no anger or strain on you that’s draining away your existence.”

“Lucky me!” He grinned and wrapped his arm around Hermione, showing off just how real he was.

Remus just smiled and shook his head. “You never change.”

“And you love it,” Sirius smirked. “Wait… that’ doesn’t make sense. James was properly angry when he left Hagrid’s the other day, but he didn’t disappear then.”

“Where did he go?” Remus asked as his brow furrowed.

“To his parents’ house. He came back the next morning looking awful and said it was blown up.”

Remus leaned back on the desk and folded his arms as he considered the possibilities. James had been furious at the idea of being dead, but managed to remain solid and travel all the way to Godric’s Hollow and back. “Perhaps having a purpose kept him whole,” Remus said. “Harry, your mother disappeared after getting angry?”

“Yes, she wanted to send an owl off to Aunt Petunia, but I stopped her,” Harry nodded.

“So she had no way of releasing her anger and it tore her apart, literally,” Hermione theorized. “Does it hurt, I wonder?”

“Apparently not if I didn’t know it was happening,” Sirius shrugged, his arms still encompassing her.

“What about the source of evil? Have you figured that bit out yet?” Harry asked.

Remus frowned and his brow creased. Sirius noticed how the concern aged him far more than his actual thirty-six years. “There might be something. The stories in the older version are not in quite the same order. It reads less like disconnected folk tales and more like an actual, historical narrative.”

“Okay… what does that mean?”

“It means that the stories line up and are an actual chronicle of a wizarding family from well before the rise of modern history,” Remus returned to the book. “It starts out well enough, but here, with the war and the orphaning of the boy, things grow darker with each story. The family grows madder and more power-hungry.”

“So they turn into my folks,” Sirius said simply.

“Not funny,” Remus said. “But yes. It’s written in one of the stories that a curse had fallen on the family, an evil infected their blood.”

“The evil…” Hermione said quietly. “It came with the raising of the dead.”

Lupin nodded.

“Oh,” she said and tears began to threaten. “Am I going to go evil and mad? I raised the dead.”

“Hermione, no,” Remus grabbed her arms and forced her to look into his eyes. “Why did you read that poem? Why did you bring the dead back to life?”

“For Harry.”

“Exactly. You did it for someone else, not for personal gain.”

“‘A new one will find it, not one who seeks wrong’,” Sirius quoted the poem from memory.

“Precisely,” Remus pointed to his old friend.

Hermione looked between them, her eyes hopeful but her voice still pleading, “So… I’m fine?”

“You are fine,” Sirius commented and held his hands up when Remus shot him a look. “Sorry, saving it for later.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Hermione,” Lupin assured her. “You’re not infected with evil.”

She nodded but the tears still fell anyway; they were tears of relief and not of fear. A frightening concern had been gnawing at her since she learned that her words had raised the dead. She had read a number of the spells aloud from the book, and worried that she had done more magical damage without realizing it. Remus, her favorite teacher, insisted all was well, and it was enough for her to believe that no harm had been done to her or by her.

“I’d like a word with Sirius, if you’ll excuse us,” Remus gestured to the door. Harry guided Hermione out, as her vision was blurred, and closed the door behind them. When he heard the click of the lock, Remus rounded on his young friend, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” Sirius asked and dropped into a chair.

“You and Hermione! What the hell are you thinking?” he glared down at the calm boy.

“You like her? Bit young for you, isn’t she?” Sirius smirked.

“You are dead, Sirius. Look at James and Lily,” he threw his arm out. “Oh! You can’t! They’ve blinked out of existence after a few minutes of stress.” Sirius rolled his eyes at him, but Remus continued, “You cannot stay here and what you’re doing will only hurt her.”

The black-haired young man let out a slow breath before he spoke. “I hear what you’re saying, Moony.”

“Then—“

He held up a hand to stop him interrupting. “I hear what you’re saying, but I have no intention of letting you or Dumbledore send me back to death. I want to stay.”

“You don’t belong here.”

“Why?” Sirius demanded, his voice hard and all attempts at casual indifference gone. He sat up in the chair and looked into Remus’s eyes. “I’m quick enough to catch on. Things aren’t so different in the wizard world that I couldn’t get by, are they?”

Remus sank into a chair and held his hands up in defeat. He didn’t have words enough to explain. “You just don’t belong, Sirius.”

Sirius smirked. His friend’s inability to provide an actual reason for him to die was proof that he was right. “Ten Galleons says I prove you wrong.”

 


	14. The Hidden Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Snape and Lily have a reunion of sorts.

Monday brought the class James had been most looking forward to. He strolled to breakfast completely unaware that he hadn’t existed since Saturday evening. Harry stared at him, amazed that he was there at all. He looked as cool and unperturbed as he ever did as he dropped onto the bench at the Gryffindor table. Lily strolled in minutes later. No one dared bring up that they had blinked out of existence, afraid it might stress the ghosts and make them vanish again in front of everyone. Harry wasn’t sure how he would explain that to his housemates.

“Defence this morning?” James asked with a smirk. He pulled the glasses off his face and held them out to Harry.

Harry just nodded, though, if his father’s eyes were as bad as his, the boy wouldn’t be able to make out the tiny gesture without his glasses. He traded the glasses for the ones from his own face and felt the relief of not having the nose pieces pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Snape’s an absolute git,” James said. No one replied because it was old news. “He spent the whole detention talking about me.”

“You mean about me?” Harry asked.

“No, me,” he insisted. “It was all oily comments about ‘your father’. That git really hates me.”

“You made an impression,” Sirius commented and dug into his eggs.

James shrugged.

“He saved my life once,” Harry said trying to sound offhand. “Dumbledore said it was to make up for you saving him from Remus once, but he still hates me because I’m your son.”

“Sorry,” James shrugged again.

“Will he notice?” Lily asked. “I mean, will he recognize us for who we really are?”

Sirius smirked. “If he doesn’t, I’ll be highly disappointed in old Snivelly.”

“Stop calling him that,” Hermione chided. “He’s a teacher.” She didn’t care for Snape any more than they did, but she respected his skills as a potioneer and his position as a professor. He may be prejudiced and unfair toward everyone but the Slytherins, but he deserved respect as a teacher and as a spy for the Order.

“A git is a git, I don’t care how you dress him up,” replied Sirius. She exhaled sharply and glared at him. “Fine, I’ll play nice… if he does.” It was the best offer she was going to get and she knew it.

“Come on,” Harry said. “I don’t want to be late. He hates me enough as it is.” He stood and started toward the door, not caring if they were following.

Some small and smirking part of him was desperate to get a good seat to watch Snape’s reaction to the two nearly identical Potters. That part, no doubt inherited from his strutting father, was rattling the bars of his cage to be freed and allowed to let loose all manner of cheeky comments that he had been penning up for years.  Harry did his best to ignore that part of himself and listened to the sensible portion that said to keep his head down and mouth shut and just get it over with.

Hermione paused when she saw Ron was still sitting at the table. “Ron? Are you coming?”

He shrugged and muttered into his goblet. Clearly he had no intention of walking with them. She sighed and left him to glower like a child. Sirius, she saw, had walked on ahead, as eager as Harry to see the damage two Potters could do in Defence class. They had all gone on without her so no one was there to watch as Pansy Parkinson blocked her path from the entrance hall.

“Got yourself a new beau?” the Slytherin sneered.

“What do you care?” Hermione replied and narrowed her eyes at the girl. Her hand gripped the wand inside her pocket, ready to draw and hex the girl if it was necessary.

“Oh, Granger,” she smirked. “I’m always interested in what sad idiot would find you attractive.” She laughed and Hermione heard the chorus of Slytherins snickering in behind her. “Why am I not surprised that only foreigners and new blokes would be interested in you? If they knew what you really looked like they’d run screaming, wouldn’t they?”

The Slytherin chorus laughed scathingly behind her, but Hermione kept her eye on Pansy.

“Perhaps a spell or two might set him right,” the girl offered. “Bring you back to that beaver you used to be.”

Anger flared inside Hermione, hotter and more fierce than anything she felt in the presence of the Death Eaters. She was not the one hiding behind a false front. If anyone could see how truly ugly Pansy was inside, no one would ever approach her. Her pretty, if pug-like, exterior belied the scaly and repugnant personality. Hermione wished that there was a way for everyone to see it; she wished the girl the pain and humiliation that she would wish upon Hermione. But she said nothing and kept the wand in her pocket; drawing it would only give the girl reason to hex her.

“Hermione,” Sirius came into the hall and saw the girls circling her. He drew up to his full height and glared down his nose at Pansy. He had the Black glare that could curdle milk and make Kings feel inferior. The Slytherin shrunk back from him and disappeared into the knot of girls.

Hermione accepted his arm and walked with him to class. It wasn’t until they were well out of sight of Pansy that Hermione started shaking from the repressed rage. “I hate her.”

“She’s just jealous,” Sirius smirked and pulled her closer.

The girl’s motivation meant nothing to Hermione. She only cared about what she did, and what she did was publically embarrass Hermione every chance she got. She glared across the classroom at Pansy as she entered with her nest of snakes. They giggled and whispered when they saw her, a few gestured about her hair and one stuck out her teeth to imitate her old buck-teeth.

Sirius didn’t pay any attention to them, choosing instead to lean in and whisper into her ear. “Anger makes you very attractive, did you know that?”

She blushed and looked at his foxy smirk. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” he moved in close, making certain she knew the only method he would accept to shut his mouth would be a kiss. She put her hand up and pushed his face away. “Oi! Not what I meant!”

“I know what you meant, but we’re in class.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the door slammed shut. Snape moved into view, appearing to glide as his robes billowed out, disguising the movement of his feet.

“You’re out of your seat, Mr Potter,” he commented.

“No, sir, I’m Porter,” James smiled winningly.

Snape’s already pale face drained of its limited color as he stared hard at James. His cold black eyes took in the boy’s every feature, from his cheeky grin to his messy hair before turning to Harry, who was sitting in his normal seat. “Mr _Porter_?”

“Yes, _professor_ ,” James smirked. They both knew full well it wasn’t his real name. He was so hoping Snape would recognize him; it wouldn’t be as much fun if he didn’t. “My brother, Sirius,” Sirius put up a hand and grinned at Snape’s narrowing eyes, “and sister, Lily.” As he turned to where James gestured, Snape nearly fell over. Lily, as beautiful as she had ever been, looked at him with the same green eyes that haunted him from Harry’s face. It took him a moment to regain his composure, while his students looked on in amazement. Snape was never lost for words.

“Thank you, Mr Porter,” he said quietly. “Take your seat.”

Snape moved to the front of the classroom, taking a moment to regain control over his voice before speaking to the whole class. “We will continue with nonverbal spells. Let’s see if Mr Potter can’t perform a little better than last week.” Harry glowered at him. “You will divide into pairs. One will attempt a jinx and the other will try the ricochet charm ‘Reditio’. Each without speaking. Begin.”

James and Sirius wore identical smirks as the assignment was given. After years of near-brotherhood, they shared an uncanny ability to know precisely what the other was thinking, and as they stood to pair off with Lily and Hermione they each were thinking the same thing: Oh, wouldn’t it just be a shame if a charm or hex should go astray as they practiced?

The young Porter men waited for Snape to turn his suspicious eyes elsewhere and began sending nonverbal charms at everything that wasn’t nailed down and a few things that were. Snape, James was certain, would love it when his dragon skeleton took flight the next time he slammed the door. And Sirius was eager to see his reaction when Snape found all the labels on his books and supplies had been changed to Beerhor, a rare language of India. They each thought it would be hilarious if his clock chimed the hour in curse words, but that was all they had time for before Snape came around and stuck close for the rest of the lesson.

Snape swept through the room, his eye trained on James and Sirius, criticizing every Gryffindor but Lily. “This will never do,” he smirked. “You aren’t really trying, Miss Granger.”

“Sir?”

“Miss Parkinson,” Snape gestured the girl forward. “Pair with Miss Granger, she clearly isn’t trying hard enough to jinx Mr _Porter_.” He glared at Sirius.

Pansy smirked. She had just the spell in mind and she had been practicing her nonverbal spells all week. “Can’t wait to see the look on your boyfriend’s face when he knows what you really look like.” She raised her wand and threw the hex at Hermione, who blocked it easily. The anger was back in full force and Hermione sent all of it at Pansy. The girl wasn’t ready and it hit her hard in the chest.

The whole class stopped and stared as Pansy fell to the floor, writhing and shrieking with the effects of the attack. Her skin seemed to boil and blister like it was on fire, though there were no visible flames. Hermione stumbled back. This is what she had wanted, to see Pansy in pain, and it frightened her to see her wish come true.

Snape waved his wand, but Pansy still screamed with the residual torment of the spell.

“What hex was that?” he demanded.

“I… I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. She had no hex in mind as she waved her wand. The only thought in her brain had been to bring severe anguish to the girl who so enjoyed hurting her.

“Mr Malfoy, take Miss Parkinson to the hospital wing,” Snape said. “And twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione didn’t care about the points. She had done exactly what she wanted. She brought pain and humiliation to Pansy. Her skin would doubtless be scarred for months because of the hex Hermione had sent her way.

It was evil, she thought.

She stared up at Snape, horrified at what she had done. He mistook her worried expression for distress at losing house points and sneered. “Perhaps next time you should use a hex that isn’t so Dark, Miss Granger.”

Not caring what he would say or the points he might deduct, Hermione turned and fled the classroom. She ran past Malfoy and Pansy as they made their slow and whimpering path to hospital. She ran up the stairs, through the corridors and didn’t stop until she was safely locked in the girls’ washroom of the Gryffindor tower.

Harry made to follow her, but the door slammed shut and he could hear the lock click. He whirled around and saw Snape still pointing his wand at it.

“If you wish to lose your House further points, Mr Potter, by all means continue to stand there,” Snape sneered.

Harry bit back the swears and hexes that he was dying to throw at him. Sirius pulled him away from the door. “We’ll check on her after,” he whispered.

“Right,” Harry muttered and continued making half-hearted attempts to hex Sirius.

“Abysmal, Potter,” Snape said. Both James and Harry turned around. James quickly turned back, realizing what he’d done, but it was too late. Snape saw the movement and took it as definitive proof of who James really was. His mouth twisted up in what could only be a triumphant grin. “That’s enough. Fifteen inches of parchment on nonverbal spells; eighteen for you, Potter, and you, Porter,” he gestured to Harry and James. “You were both exceedingly bad and need all the theory you can get. Dismissed.”

Harry said nothing, having learned to keep his mouth shut after five years of abuse. James started to protest, and loudly, but Harry kicked him and he took the hint.

“Miss Porter,” Snape called when most of the class had filed out the door, “a word.”

Lily stopped and waited. By her count it had been more than twenty-one years since she had spoken to Severus Snape. After he spat the insult at her publically, she had given up on him. Not even his apologizing had made it alright; she stopped speaking to him and stopped being his friend. She had no intention of changing that arrangement now.

As soon as the door closed Severus moved closer and studied her face. She looked exactly as he remembered. “Lily?”

“What do you want, _Professor_?” she asked. It was the first time he had heard her voice since she entered the room. It sounded the same as it did in his dreams and memories.

She didn’t know what to expect, but his reaction was certainly not it. His hands moved so quickly she couldn’t react and he pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry, Lily. I tried to save you. I tried to bargain with the Dark Lord, but he was determined to kill you.”

“Let me go, Severus Snape!” She pushed at him and forced him to release her. “I’m still mad at you!”

“I know,” he said, sounding more like the wounded teenager she remembered. “I’m still sorry.”

“That didn’t work twenty years ago, it’s not going to work now,” she stomped her foot and glared at him. Her eyes practically glowed with her anger.

“A foolish man’s hope,” Snape muttered.

“And you treat my son appallingly!” she pointed at the door, where she was certain Harry was waiting with his ear pressed to the crack. “You call yourself my friend and then you treat Harry like that?”

“Harry is too much like his father,” Snape sneered.

“No, you stop treating my son like your personal punching bag. And I do mean now!” she poked at his chest threateningly. “I don’t care if you’re a professor now. Nobody mistreats my family.”

“As you wish,” Snape said.

Outside the door, Harry’s eyes went wide. He had never heard Snape cede anything to anyone but Dumbledore. He didn’t know what sort of relationship his mother had with Snape, but it was one strong enough to make the dark wizard completely humble. He wished more than ever that his mother had lived long enough to see Harry safely into Hogwarts.

A word from her and Snape would never have treated him poorly to start with, Harry was absolutely certain.


	15. Creature Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius thumbs his nose at chastity wards. Not literally. Figuratively.

“Oi! Hermione!” Sirius shouted up the stairs. He assumed the charm was still in place that kept the boys from climbing the steps to the girls’ dorms. If he set foot on the stairs, they would collapse into a slippery incline to prevent his entry. It was completely sexist, as the girls could come and go from the boys’ dorms all they liked. So he had to stand at the entrance, leaning as far in as he could, and call up the stairs to her.

“Will you shut up?” Ginny stomped down and glared at him.

“Ah! You’re the ginger oaf’s sister, right?” A hint of a smile cracked her tight, angry scowl and Sirius knew he was right. “You know Hermione then?”

“Yes,” Ginny said. “She’s in the washroom.”

“Tell her Sirius is waiting for her,” he smiled and went to sit in the common room. Ginny watched him for a moment, impressed but not surprised that Hermione had snagged such a handsome bloke, before she went back up to knock on the washroom door.

“Hermione? Are you in there?”

“Yes,” Hermione hiccupped quietly.

“Are you going to come out? Your boyfriend is waiting downstairs.”

“No.”

Ginny didn’t want to press the matter. Sirius didn’t seem as if he was worried or had done anything wrong, but if Hermione was hiding in the washroom then she must have her reasons. And if she wasn’t going to come out for a face that handsome then it must be a very good reason.

An hour after he finished his Potions essay, Sirius sat drumming his fingers on his knee. Hermione still hadn’t come down. He called over a first year and sent her up to see where Hermione was. The girl reported Hermione was still in the washroom.

“What?” he looked over the girl’s head to the door. “It’s been three hours. What’s she doing in there?”

“Crying,” the girl said matter-of-factly. He thanked her and she ran back to her table. Sirius stared at the open entryway, willing the chastity-protecting spell to disappear so that he could go up there personally and blast the washroom door off its hinges. It wouldn’t work, though. The spell had been in place since the school was founded and no glare, however impressive, would dislodge it. He needed another option.

“Oi! Ginger oaf’s sister, what’s your name again?” Sirius called across the common room to her, ignoring Ron’s curses when he realized that Sirius was talking about him.

She marched over and smacked him on the head with her rolled parchment. “Stop shouting, you idiot. It’s Ginny. What do you want?”

“She’s crying up there?”

She nodded. “Was still at it last I checked.”

He frowned and Ginny couldn’t help but think that even that face looked good on him. “Is that normal for her?”

“Not like this. She gets upset easily, but she’s not usually one for bawling for hours,” Ginny said and sat down across from him. “She won’t tell me what happened, either.”

Sirius shrugged. “She hexed a girl in class. It was the assignment.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. She was well acquainted with the roving scale of lying. She had learned it early in life from Fred and George, and could interpret nearly anybody’s level of untruth. He was being purposefully vague, which was at the lower end of the scale just above lying by omission. “That’s all?”

“Well,” Sirius admitted slowly, “it was just about the nastiest hex I’ve ever seen, like she was being burned alive without actually being on fire. And it was the same Slytherin girl who had cornered her in the entrance hall just before class… but other than that, it was just a hex.”

“That would have been Pansy, then,” Ginny said knowingly. “She had it coming, I’m sure. Still whatever that hex was, it sounds pretty nasty to throw at her for an assignment.”

“Which room is Hermione’s?” he asked abruptly.

“What’s it matter? You can’t go up there.”

“Which room?” he asked again in a tired and slightly irritated tone like the one her mother used when she had to repeat herself a dozen times.

“Upstairs, fourth level, on the left, bed nearest the window. Not that it matters since you can’t go up there,” she said. “Wait, can you?”

Sirius just grinned and went back to drumming his fingers on his knee. Ginny sat and stared at him for quite some time, just waiting for him to stand and try walking up the stairs. There was an odd serenity to his face, the sort she remembered on Fred when he was certain a prank was about to succeed. Somehow she believed him capable of the impossible; he had a way to reach the girls’ dorms when no other boy could.

“Well,” he said after a while. “I’m just knackered. Off to bed.” He stood and stretched dramatically before weaving a path to the boys’ dorms. Ginny watched and waited, but he didn’t come back down. She eventually had to turn her attention back to her assignment for Slughorn, but her eye darted to any movement in the doorways leading to either the boys or girls’ sleeping quarters. Sirius never showed.

oOo

The dog, enormous and black, slunk down the stairs, listening for any sounds. There were none. It was late in the night and nearly ever Gryffindor had gone to bed. He half expected to see Ginny standing in the doorway, blocking his path, but the doorway was unguarded. On quiet paws he climbed the steps, which held his weight and remained parallel. There was a flaw in the charm that it failed to recognize the sex of animals, assuming that any beast that stepped there was a pet. It was a flaw that Wormtail had taken advantage of many a time to peek into the girls’ washrooms.

As he climbed the stairs to the fourth level, he could smell Hermione. Being able to turn into a dog at will had made him more aware of the smells in the world. He didn’t have any better sense of smell when he was human, but he noticed scents he hadn’t previously been aware of. Hermione smelled of vanilla and ink, where Ginny smelled overpoweringly of flowers. Harry apparently liked that smell, as he would unknowingly close his eyes and inhale deeply when she walked past. Once he started noticing, Sirius decided he didn’t care for flowery girls; Hermione’s heady vanilla was perfect.

Sirius chased the inky vanilla smell into the door on the left, using his paws to open the door with some effort and no small number of irritated growls. With one final guttural curse, the door opened and he snuck inside. If bare, the room would have been identical to the boys’ dormitory, but the girls had decorated with every manner of scarf and pillow known to exist. The scarlet and gold were overpowered by pink and purple, which thankfully Sirius couldn’t see because it was dark and, as a dog, he was color blind.

His nose brought him to the bed nearest the window where he could hear Hermione still crying. He pushed his head under the curtain and saw her sitting up in bed, her face buried in her drawn-up knees. She looked tiny.

His muscles tensed and released quickly as he hopped up into the bed with her. Everyone loved a dog, especially when they were down. But if she noticed the additional weight on her bed, she didn’t care; she kept her head down. Sirius frowned in his canine way. He put his chin on her knee and whined to get her attention. Her enormous blood-shot eyes stared at him. He saw something he didn’t expect –recognition. She knew he was no stray dog wandering into her room by accident. She knew who and what he truly was.

“You can’t be here,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse from crying.

He made the dog equivalent of a ‘Hell no, I’m not leaving.’ It sounded something like a sneeze, but she got the idea and stroked the thick fur on his head. Her actions brought a low growl of appreciation from his throat, which made her smile.

‘Move over and make room,’ he barked quietly and lay his massive furry body down beside her, his head on her pillow and tail wagging happily.

“Fine, you can stay,” she sighed. She was in no state to move him physically or magically. She lay her tired body down and rolled over to keep her back to the dog. If she faced him, she would be tempted to treat him like a dog and rub his belly. Doubtless, Sirius would love it but she thought it a bit too personal a touch for knowing him only a week.

The soft whine told her he didn’t like the arrangement. He pawed at her arm until she rolled onto her back with a defeated groan. “You are impossible.”

Sirius ignored her because he knew he was wonderful. He licked her cheek and laid his head on her shoulder. Disgusted sighs and complaints should have come from her, but Hermione didn’t mind. She was glad of the company and found the warm weight on her shoulder to be a comfort, an anchor to reality rather than the intangible terrors that had been visiting her while she sat alone in the washroom. She stroked his head and back, knowing that he wasn’t really a dog and that it would be unacceptable to treat him like this if he were human, but not caring one bit. Watching his eyes close and hearing the content growls, she suspected he didn’t care either. Exhaustion claimed her and she fell asleep, her fingers still twined in the fur on his chest.

As pleasant as he found their current position, Sirius wanted to hold her in a way a dog couldn’t. From what he could tell, Hermione’s only real friends were Ron and Harry, so Sirius had little to concern himself with from her roommates. He didn’t have to worry about any of them flinging her curtains open in the morning for a girly chat only to find Sirius asleep in her bed. The only girl in the whole Gryffindor dorm that might peek in on her would be Ginny. If she found Sirius there, it would only add to his mystique in her eyes, he was sure.

His one real concern was how Hermione would react when she woke up, which he hoped would be favorably. The potential repercussions, he decided, were worth it. With a second’s concentration, his tail and fur were gone and Hermione’s fingertips were brushing his chest through the gap in his shirt. Her touch was so much lovelier when he was human. He pulled her close and smelled the vanilla of her hair, a low growl in his throat. 


	16. Deserving

Sometime in the dark hours of the early morning, Hermione woke and found herself wrapped in the arms of a snoring Sirius Black. She felt his breath on her hair, as if he had drifted off while placing a kiss on her sleeping head. One of his legs had hooked itself through hers, so she couldn’t hope to get up even if she wanted to. There was no part of her that was unhappy at the arrangement, however, and she had no desire whatsoever to change it.

Sirius sniffed and muttered her name in his sleep. She thought for a moment that he was waking and asking her if she was awake, too.

“Sirius?” she whispered, but he just tugged her closer and continued to snore into her hair. She bit her lip and smiled, all fear of being evil or possessed gone from her mind. The warmth of him surrounded her and she closed her eyes to luxuriate in it. Sleep came again and with it dreams of him singlehandedly fighting off the darkness she feared might consume her.

The shriek woke them a few hours later. They each shot up in bed, Hermione grabbing her wand from under her pillow and Sirius ready to bolt for the door. But the curtains still hung around them, heavy and undisturbed. Another shriek followed and then the shouting. Two voices Sirius didn’t know arguing and accusing. Hermione groaned like it was part of the daily routine and fell back on her pillow. Sirius stayed seated, flinching at the hard voices.

“This is all your fault, Parvati!” Lavender shouted. “I said you could borrow it only if you brought it back in one piece! Now look at it!”

“It’s not my fault if it was shoddy!” Parvati insisted, in a loud and indignant voice. “You told me it could hold up to a cleaning spell!”

“What the hell were you doing that it needed cleaning this thoroughly?”

“None of your business!”

“It’s my lucky scarf! I wanted to wear it today and you ruined it!”

“This isn’t about the scarf. It’s about you and your stupid crush!” Parvati spat. “You didn’t care about Weasley until he made the team!”

“How dare you? I did so and you know it!” Lavender shrieked.

The other girl just laughed. It was so full of derision that it sounded more like a cackle.

“Don’t you laugh at me, Parvati!” Lavender warned. “Verruco!”  Parvati’s laugher turned to screams as the hex hit her. “If you want to cackle like a Muggle stereotype, you’ll look like one, too.”

All hope of returning to sleep forgotten, Hermione threw back the curtain and jumped out of bed. Parvati was on the floor, hands covering her face to hide the effects of the curse. She glanced up and Hermione could see the horrendous warts that had sprouted up all over her dark skin.

“Lavender, you know better than to use magic outside the classroom!” Hermione brought out her most imposing Prefect voice. “And over a scarf of all things! Ten points from Gryffindor. Now take her to Madam Pomfrey at once.”

Lavender glared at her, but didn’t dare retaliate. She grabbed the afflicted girl’s arm roughly and pulled her from the dorm. Hermione watched them leave and sighed. Girls could be so vicious. She trudged back to her bed.

“Sorry about that, but Lavender’s a bit… well, Lavender,” she said and pulled the curtain aside.

The bed was empty. She checked underneath, but Sirius wasn’t hiding under it.

“Sirius?” she asked the room. No one answered. He really was quick if he managed to transfigure himself into a dog and slink out in the time it took her to yell at Lavender. It would have been easy to say he hadn’t been there at all, but the copious amount of dog hair on her bed proved otherwise. Since no one was around to judge her, she dove face first onto her bed and breathed in his smell, which unfortunately held a lingering canine aroma. Still, she smiled, it was his and it proved that he really had been there.

She bathed and dressed and hurried down to breakfast to sit next to him and thank him for keeping her company. Sirius wasn’t there yet. James, however, was already there pestering Harry for a position as a second-string Chaser. Harry’s eyes were glazed over like he wasn’t really listening, which he wasn’t. His father had started on him shortly after he reappeared and hadn’t let up since.

“Come on,” James practically whined. “When are you going to have the chance to play on the same team as your own dad?”

“Good morning,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Mornin’,” Harry said tiredly.

“Have you seen Sirius this morning?” she asked. “I wanted to thank him.”

“No, haven’t seen him since last night,” James said. “He’ll turn up, though. No worries.” He grinned then turned his hazel eyes back to his son. “Please!”

“Fine! Just shut up!” Harry shouted. Everyone turned to look at him just in time to witness James pulling him into a bear hug and lifting him off the bench. “Gerroff me, you git!”

“Yes, Captain!” the new second-string Chaser beamed.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked anywhere but at his idiot father. He saw Lavender stomping into the Great Hall looking extraordinarily irate. She glared at Hermione and threw herself onto the bench to eat. “What’s with Lavender?”

“She and Parvati got into a fight this morning,” Hermione shrugged. It was nothing new; there was always drama with Lavender around. “It was quite handy, actually,” she admitted. “It gave Sirius a chance to escape while they were distracted.”

James eyebrows rose high on his forehead and he looked meaningfully at his son. “Sirius, you say? In your dorm room? And you a Prefect, Miss Granger, I am shocked!”

“Oh, shut up,” she rolled her eyes and fought the smile that was trying to consume her face. She looked radiant. No one would have thought she spent the whole previous evening crying her fears out in the girls’ washroom. “He kept me company.”

Harry’s sense of brotherly responsibility reared up and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, despite how happy she looked. “Um… Hermione, are you sure that’s wise?”

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “Nobody saw him. He won’t get in trouble.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said and fidgeted with his fork. This was awkward, more than he had expected. “Is it wise getting so close? He can’t stay here, you know?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her smile faltering. “I know that.”

Harry watched her for a short while, distressed that he had taken away her happiness with his questions, but certain she was smart enough to understand that they couldn’t get attached. He still wasn’t particularly keen on his father joining the Quidditch team, but it kept James from making an ass of himself and annoying Harry to the point of wanting to hex him.

None of them spoke again as they finished their breakfasts. Harry wanted to kick himself for making things so uncomfortable, but thankfully class would distract them all and maybe by the end of it Hermione would be happy again.

“Potions,” Harry said and stood. The others followed.

Professor Slughorn was most delighted to see the new students, curious to find if Harry’s cousins were as gifted at brewing as Harry was. Lily he remembered from the previous week, but James was a charming addition. Slughorn and Hermione were both disappointed that Sirius wasn’t there. James smilingly made excuses for his absence, which Slughorn nodded and loudly proclaimed to be perfectly alright by him provided he make up the class with the other sixth years.

Hermione worried away the double period. She knew James and Lily had disappeared after being stressed. Sirius had vanished that morning; she had assumed he walked away on his own furry, padded feet, but with his absence from class she was beginning to wonder if the night spent with her had been a strain on him and not the same pleasant night she had experienced.

Her fear only grew as the day passed. Sirius didn’t come to lunch. He was missing from Herbology and dinner, too. He failed to come to breakfast Wednesday, and Hermione was thankful Pansy was still in hospital or she would have been taunting her mercilessly that her boyfriend had run away. Hermione was practically in a panic come Thursday.

“What happened Monday?” James asked that evening. Even he was starting to worry. He and Lily had both returned from their absences within two days; Sirius had been missing for nearly three full days now.

“He showed up in my room as a dog, climbed onto my bed and we fell asleep,” she said quietly. “Sometime in the night he went human again, but that was all.”

“Why would he vanish from that? Was he there when you woke up?”

“Yes, he vanished when I was yelling at Lavender for cursing Parvati,” she gestured to the two girls who were now best friends again down the table from them.

James looked a bit pale when he asked, “Were they shouting?”

Hermione nodded. “Loudly. And Lavender hexed Parvati.”

“That did it.”

“What?” Harry asked, disbelieving.

“Sirius hates that,” James said in a low voice, like it was a dirty secret he wasn’t meant to share. “Shouting, arguing, all that.”

“But you two yell at each other all the time… haven’t you ever hexed one another?”

“Not for real, and we’d never hex each other in anger. Not knowing what his family was like,” James looked wounded that Harry would even suggest it. “The Blacks… They were brutal. His mum would shout and punish them for anything. She hexed him when he was sorted into Gryffindor, tried to force him to switch houses. When he tried to run away from home third year, she Imperioed him back to his room and locked him in for the whole summer.”

“Sounds familiar,” Harry muttered darkly.

“How could she?” Hermione’s eyes filled with tears for his pain.

“She Crucioed him last summer… well, summer before our real sixth year…” James gripped his goblet so hard he bent his fingernails backwards. Sirius was like his brother and he hated that woman, wanted to hex her for what she’d done. “He managed to get away. Been living with my folks ever since.”

Harry just stared. He knew the basics of the story, but never imagined the mad Black matriarch would hex her own children for disobeying her wishes, let alone use Unforgivables on them. Suddenly, Sirius’s front of detached cool seemed vital to his sanity. If he showed how affected he was, Harry was certain his Godfather would break. And his reaction to Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal now made even more sense; what wouldn’t Sirius have done for the Potters who rescued him from the pain of Grimmauld Place?

Hermione was lost for words. She was crying openly and drawing no small amount of attention. “He didn’t deserve it. Any of it,” she managed and ran from the Great Hall.

She wasn’t just thinking of his horrid mother. True, no one deserved that. Hermione was thinking of his entire life. Sirius was a good man, with a good heart. He survived a tormented childhood with his soul intact and a mind fully his own. He had done what he felt right and was punished for it. He was denied a family. War and betrayal denied him his friends. His attempt at vengeance denied him his freedom. And finally, he was denied his life.

It wasn’t fair.

He deserved more. He deserved life if nothing else.

She hurried to the girls’ lavatory and fought the tears back by sheer determination. The cool water calmed her red eyes, allowing her to see clearly as she made her way purposefully to the only place she knew she could find some answers – the library. In those books, she knew she would find a method to keep him whole and solid. Stress may come to him again, but he would remain in the world of the living where he belonged.

It was all for him, she told herself.

That was mostly true. If asked, she would deny that part of her efforts were to keep him alive and solid for her comfort as much as his. Her comfort, she would insist, didn’t matter so much as finally giving Sirius the life he deserved.

It was for him. Really, it was.


	17. Dinner Date

The dusty tomes piled up on the table around her with each trip into the stacks. She didn’t know quite what she was looking for at first, but started finding glimpses of hope in certain spells to solidify smoke. Ghosts were little more than smoke, though the ghostly teenagers she had brought back were far from being so intangible. She left only when Madam Pince told her to clear off, returning in the morning and leaving again just long enough to attend Transfiguration.

It took all of Thursday night, Friday and most of Saturday, but Hermione found the spell she sought. It wasn’t strictly intended to be used on whatever it was Sirius had returned as, but she was certain it would work. It had to. The one real trouble was that she had to cast it on Sirius, who was still missing.

Their date was that evening and she selfishly hoped that he would return in time to take her to dinner as he had promised. She no longer cared what it was he had stolen from the storeroom; she just wanted to spend time with him. Learning his painful history only made her more eager for his return. Her hopes were growing fruitless, however. Dinner drew closer and he had yet to show his face.

She sat in the common room, reading the parchment filled with notes about her new spell, dressed in her boring and comfortable Muggle clothes and assuming he would not be returning any time that evening. Ginny kept her company for a time, but left on a date of her own. Hermione was slightly jealous of Ginny’s permanently solid boyfriend, but kept muttering the spell to herself in anticipation of Sirius’s arrival.

“While I admit you look good in anything, that isn’t quite what I had in mind for tonight’s dinner,” Sirius informed her.

Hermione yelped in surprise and recoiled into her chair. Sirius was sitting in the chair beside her, lounging might have been a more accurate description. His feet were propped on the table and he leaned back casually. Her eyes raked his form and saw he was dressed not in his school uniform like he had been when she last saw him. She had expected him to pop back into existence as if no time had passed, possibly even in the same location. But he was there in the common room, dressed in dark jeans and a deep red oxford shirt, looking as if he had been alive and well for the past four days. More than well, actually; compared to her frazzled and dusty appearance, he looked positively relaxed and regal.

“I..” she swallowed and considered if she ought to bring up his nearly week-long absence. “I lost track of time.”

“Well hurry up, then!” he jumped up in an unexpectedly feline motion and pulled her from the chair, pointing her in the direction of the girls’ dorms. “Go on!”

She huffed indignantly but ran up the stairs quickly. She half expected him to follow as a dog, but thankfully he let her have some privacy. She cleaned up quite well, as everyone agreed after seeing her at the Yule Ball, but it took quite a bit of effort and grumbling on her part to get everything just the way she wanted it. The process was immaterial; it was the final product that she wanted him to see.

In hopeful anticipation of Sirius’s return, Ginny and Parvati had left several potential date outfits on her bed. Seeing his clothes, elegant and casual as the young man ever was, she was determined to find an appropriate match, which she found in one of Parvati’s less traditional dresses. She dressed quickly, charmed her hair and threw on what make-up she dared to attempt on her own before hurrying down the stairs.

“Sirius? Do I need a coat?” she asked as she entered the common room.

He had been sitting in her chair, waiting impatiently for her to come back down but putting on the mask of indifference that he was famous for. It fell completely when she walked into the common room. His jaw dropped and he stared, openly, unashamedly and appreciatively at her bare legs, small waist and the naked skin of her throat.

“And cover that up? Never,” he smirked as she blushed.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” she reminded him.

“Not far,” he assured her.

“Still, maybe I should bring a jumper…”

“Don’t you even think about it,” he warned and grabbed her hand before she could run back up the stairs for a cover-up. He pulled her past the gawking Gryffindors, Ron Weasley among them, and through the portrait hole. She fell into step beside him, Ginny’s borrowed heels clicking on the stones as they walked. His arm snaked around her, his hand caressing the silky fabric of the dress she had borrowed. If the spell worked and Sirius remained alive and tangible at Hogwarts for the rest of the year, she might actually have to invest in some date clothes.

Hermione felt the hard poke of the wand, which she had stowed down the front of her dress. She wondered when would be the best time to cast the spell, and if she ought to consult him about it first. He had been the only one in the Headmaster’s office to protest their desire to put things right, stubbornly insisting that he had no intention of dying again. So, she reasoned, he would be perfectly happy to have her cast the spell to keep him from vanishing again. This thought brought her a satisfied smile totally unrelated to his physical proximity.

“Hold on,” Sirius said. “Mustn’t ruin the surprise.” He pulled a silk scarf from his pocket. She had just enough time to notice that it matched his shirt before it was tied around her head, covering her eyes. It was knotted in place before her first vehement protest left her painted lips.

“This is ridiculous!” she insisted and smacked at his hands with no effect. “What is the big secret? Where are we going?”

He ignored her complaints and her questions. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“If you were asking anyone but me, I would say two,” she replied acidly and demonstrated just which two fingers she meant.

Sirius laughed loudly and pulled her close. She felt the vibrations of his laughter and the beating of his heart through his chest. How could he be anything but alive? “You know me far too well.”

“Well you didn’t change all that much when I met you a few years ago,” she commented. “Maturity didn’t have much effect on your hand gestures.”

“You are going to have to tell me all about myself one day,” he laughed and guided her along the corridors and up marble stairs. “But as I recall, this particular evening is all about our likes and interests.”

“And lives,” she added. “You said ‘life, likes and interests’ last week.”

Somehow she didn’t expect to hear much detail about his home life prior to moving in with the Potters. What James had told her had been unbearably cruel and she didn’t think it the sort of thing he would share with anyone after knowing them only two weeks. Although, the sympathy hugs and kisses she wanted to cover him with might be motivation enough to open his heart.

“That, too,” he smiled darkly, though she couldn’t see it. “Could you reasonably call what I have at the moment a life?”

She didn’t answer. If she had her way, he would be undeniably alive before the night was over.

“Vanishing step,” Sirius warned. Hermione gasped in surprise when she felt his hands grip her waist and lifted her over the step. His thumbs massaged the soft fabric, enjoying the feel of her warmth through the material. He should have let go and started moving back up the steps, but he couldn’t. “I think I might have to take advantage of this situation.”

Hermione didn’t quite know what he meant until she felt his lips on hers. He had kissed her only once before, briefly and almost teasingly. This was nothing like that. This time his lips lingered, his tongue did more than just brush her lower lip. Her breath was still lost to him, and she sighed at the delicious taste he brought into her mouth.

“Is there any chance of talking you out of dinner?” he questioned. She couldn’t see his face, but his voiced sounded strained.

“No,” she replied breathlessly. “You have piqued my interest with all your blindfolds and surprises.”

“Damn,” he sighed and started up the steps with her hand securely in his again. “It was worth a try.”

She giggled and blushed. “If you’re a good boy, maybe we can skip dessert. You deserve a lot more kisses after what you’ve been through.”

Sirius was at once both resentful of the blindfold and thankful for it. He wanted to look into her eyes and see whether she was playing with him. It was tempting to tear the silky fabric off her face to demand answers, but to do that would be exposing himself. If her eyes were bare, she would see him looking desperately unsure of himself. No one was allowed to see that but the Marauders, his friends, his self-selected family. His mother, the only woman who had ever seen his vulnerability, had taken advantage of it, and he would not allow himself to be so used again.

“Nearly there,” he said, sounding far more confident than he felt. He prayed that she didn’t notice his hand shaking around hers as he led her up the final few steps.

Hermione strained her ears. It was the only sense she had that might tell her where they were. She had tried to keep track of the turns and stairs, but it hadn’t worked. There were so many corridors and hidden passages throughout the school that they might have been anywhere. She heard the creaking of a door. It sounded quite ominous in the darkness of her blindfold and given how quiet Sirius had been the last few minutes.

She jumped slightly when she felt his hand at the small of her back, pushing her gently forward through the now-open door. There was a breeze tugging lightly at her hair. And she felt warmth, like the Great Hall when it was filled with hundreds of floating candles.

“My Lady,” Sirius said softly. He pulled the scarf from her eyes. The light was blinding after the near total darkness of the blindfold, but her eyes adjusted after she blinked several times and she could see where he had brought her, to the castle’s highest tower.

She had been here in her first year. The sky had been cloudy then and she had been terrified of being caught out of bed after curfew. Tonight, the sky was clear and the stars seemed brighter than ever, twinkling like the light in Dumbledore’s eyes. Candles covered every horizontal section of the crenellated wall, including the deep arrow slits. The air around them shimmered with the effects of a shielding spell that kept the strong wind out.

Sirius watched her face and basked in her awe. He was still the King of Surprises, even in this time period. He cleared his throat and held out a chair for her. She hadn’t even noticed the table.

“You didn’t have to do all this…” she breathed.

“I’m a Black,” he said with no small amount of pride. “Good or ill, a Black never does anything by halves.”

“It’s so different than the last time I was here,” she commented.

“Another date?” he asked playfully, but his smirk fell a bit.

“Hardly,” she smiled. “Harry and I brought a baby dragon up here our first year. Ron’s brother’s friends came to collect it before Hagrid got in trouble.”

Sirius let out a low whistle of appreciation. “An illegal dragon in your first year? I underestimated you, Hermione. What else have you done?”

She blushed. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“At the beginning, of course,” he smiled and served her food from a tray that appeared magically when he rapped on the tabletop. “You are clearly more interesting than me. What else happened in your first year?”

Sirius made the perfect audience. He spoke surprisingly little while she told him about her time at Hogwarts, only speaking to ask questions and demand more information. She felt odd talking about herself so much, especially when it came to her fourth year and Victor Krum, and insisted he tell her about what he and his Marauders got up to. The conversation she had overheard in the Three Broomsticks in her third year informed her that they had been troublemakers unlike Hogwarts had ever seen. He was very proud of that fact, too.

It was the best dinner she had ever had, though, if asked, she wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone what she had actually eaten. As they ate and talked, their chairs slowly gravitated toward each other and they were sitting side by side well before dinner was done.

“And now,” Sirius sighed, “a promise is a promise.”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“The case.”

“Oh! I forgot about that,” she admitted sheepishly. “So what’s in it?”

Sirius reached down and pulled the battered case from under the table. It looked small and insignificant now, where before it had seemed so imposing and important. The contents didn’t matter to her anymore. It wasn’t Malfoy trying to get Harry into trouble, so the case held no value. Still, Sirius was keeping his side of their bargain.

Two weeks ago her hands would have shook with nerves and excitement as she took the case and opened it, thinking it was a vital piece of Malfoy’s plan. Now she was calm, knowing that whatever the case held it was James Potter who wanted it and not Draco Malfoy. The hinges stuck slightly from age, but gave with a bit of pressure and she saw the object of James’s desire cradled in a soft cushion.

She looked at the simple glass sphere, clear and perfectly round. It looked like a plain Christmas ornament or a miniature crystal ball. “What is it?”

“The Orbis Erised,” he said. “Moony saw it in a book about artifacts of magic housed at Hogwarts, and James thought it would be the perfect way for him to prove that Evans really did fancy him.”

She looked from the orb to him. “How exactly would it do that?”

He smiled. “It’s charmed to show what the holder wants,” he lifted the orb from the box and held it in his hand. It clouded as he continued, “Not some passing fancy, mind you. No, it shows the deepest wants. See, deepest desire.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and peered into the orb. In the smoke she could see Sirius and James alive and well graduating Hogwarts. His dearest wish – to be alive. “I think I may be able to help you with that.” She pulled the wand from the front of her dress.

His amused smile fell when she pointed it at him, “Hermione?”

“Carnem Confirmare!” she said. The light that shot from her wand was as deep a red as his shirt, the color of blood and the innermost organs of the body. It pulsed around him and matched his erratic and panicked heartbeat before it faded, leaving him breathless and more than a little worried.

“What the fucking hell was that?” he fought to keep his voice calm.

“The only spell that I could find to keep you from vanishing again. You were gone for four days, Sirius,” she told him. He looked as surprised at this news as he had been by her spell.

“Gone? Like James and Evans were gone?” Hermione nodded and he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Well, shit, no wonder you weren’t ready for dinner.”

She laughed at how easily he took the news. “I just hope it works. Otherwise, I don’t know what else to try. I don’t want you to disappear again.”

There was something in her voice, a desperation and pain that made him smile; she had missed him. “I just have to know…” He thrust the Orbis Erised into her hands and held them tightly around the charmed glass. His eyes grew as wide as his grin as he watched the figures form in the orb. “Is that me?”

Hermione blushed clear to her hairline. She hurriedly pushed the globe back into the case and slammed the lid shut.

“I think I may be able to help you with that,” he smirked and stole her mouth for the second time that evening. 


	18. Black Dreams

The food was fantastic from what she remembered. The conversation was the greatest she had ever had. The dessert was breathtaking. All thoughts of pudding had been forgotten and they had found something far sweeter. They kissed until curfew, then returned to the Gryffindor common room to kiss some more. Completely oblivious to everything around them – to Ron’s sputtering anger and to the catcalls from the sixth and seventh year girls – they kissed.

Harry had to look away. It was more than a little disturbing to see his Godfather with his tongue in his best friend’s mouth. James was somehow easier to deal with; Harry never knew his father, so he had nothing to compare his actions against. But he had known Sirius. This teenager with his hands on Hermione’s thigh wasn’t so altered from the man he had just lost to Death Eaters. The differences were slight, and it worried him that maybe his nearly forty-year-old Godfather had these same thoughts about Hermione before he died.

“Disgusting,” Ron commented. “You’d never catch me acting like that in the common room. Everybody’s watching!”

“Jea-lous!” Ginny sang in an irritatingly high-pitched voice. Harry laughed because he knew it was true.

“Am not! It just isn’t right!” Ron insisted. “He’s dead. He’s going to leave and Hermione’s going to be gutted.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a prime opportunity for you to step in and be the hero,” James said without looking up from his essay. Those extra three inches of parchment from Snape were surprisingly difficult to fill. Harry was used to the unfair treatment and had learned the little tricks to making his essays appear longer than they actually were. A fractionally larger margin, a few ‘accidental’ misspellings that had to be crossed out and rewritten and Harry had only to think of one or two more sentences to reach the required length of parchment.

“And you wonder why I won’t date you when you make comments like that,” Lily rolled her vibrant green eyes.

“It’s so weird that your mum and dad aren’t even dating,” Ginny whispered to Harry. Smart girl that she was, she had figured out who the Porters really were. Her deductive powers were helped along considerably by the fact that she had known Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

He just shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“How?” Ginny asked.

“They could be doing that in front of me.” He pointed to Sirius and Hermione.

“Ew,” Ginny and Ron wrinkled their noses as thoughts of their own parents returning as snogging teenagers filled their brains. With that thoroughly disgusting image, they stopped commenting on Sirius and Hermione or Lily and James, afraid of what else might be brought up.

The awkwardness stretched out between them until one by one they moved off toward their dorms to read in private or sleep. Ron gave Hermione and Sirius one last revolted glare before ascending the stairs. Harry kept on reading, finding it easier now that Ron wasn’t there huffing and grumbling his irritation every few minutes. He had already voiced his concerns to Hermione with no results, so he saw no point in getting upset over it. He was tempted to go up to his room to keep the sight from his eyes, but Ron might not be asleep yet.

It took hours, but Hermione finally had to come up for air. She giggled and extricated herself from Sirius’s rather persistent grip. He pulled her back, “Just a bit more. Your spell might not have worked and I might disappear for another four days.”

“I’ll have you know that I am the brightest witch of my age,” she smirked.

“And who said that?” he teased.

“You did, three years ago.”

“Well, who am I to doubt myself,” he said and planted one last kiss on her smirking lips. “I will trust that your spell worked.”

“Thank you.” She stood. “I will see you tomorrow,” she said confidently.

He watched her leave, missing the warmth of her body against his. His lips still tasted like her and he would bet a dozen Galleons that her scent clung to his shirt. His will power lasted a full five minutes before he stood and started for the girls’ dormitories.

“Too fast,” James insisted and caught his arm.

Sirius groaned. “I just want to see her again.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Padfoot. Spend too much time with her and she’ll learn what a git you really are,” James insisted and pushed him back into the chair.

“No worse of a git than you,” Sirius said, staring past him to the doorway through which Hermione had disappeared. Harry snorted. He had been trying not to listen, but he had to agree that they were both idiots as teenagers. It made Harry feel better about himself, what with being very much _not_ an idiot or git himself. “You can shut it, Potter.”

Harry couldn’t hold back the laugh at how petulant his Godfather looked slumped in his chair, glowering at him. “You are such a git,” Harry laughed and used his book as a shield against the cushion Sirius threw at him.

“You’re son is as bad as you, Prongs,” Sirius grumbled.

“Isn’t it great?” James grinned and ruffled Harry’s already wild hair.

“Cut that out!” Harry took his bag and left the two gits laughing in the common room. “Hermione had no taste in boyfriends.”

Hermione would disagree wholeheartedly. Her current boyfriend was better by far than her previous prospect, Ron Weasley, and better than her last boyfriend, Viktor Krum. Krum, while attentive, was hardly worth conversing with; he could barely pronounce her name and any hope of speaking to him meaningfully fell by the wayside the second someone ran up for an autograph.

Sirius Black, on the other hand, was fantastic. She knew he was a fan of Quidditch, but he didn’t insist on boring her with it on their date. When he mentioned it among his likes and interests, she had braced herself for a long tirade about his favorite team, its players and standing for the World Cup. But after the brief mention, more a passing comment than anything, he turned the conversation to Transfiguration, his favorite class. Perhaps he had seen her tense or roll her eyes, but that never got Ron to stop talking about the sport. It was enough to put Sirius in an even more favorable light.

Cleaned and dressed for bed, Hermione fell onto her mattress with a stupid grin on her face. She was happy the other girls had already gone to bed, having gotten tired of waiting up for her and fallen asleep. They had agreed to ambush her first thing the next morning.

Hermione bunched up her blanket to give it enough body to hug. Her one night sleeping beside Sirius had spoiled her. She wanted nothing more than to wake up every morning to his warm body curled around hers. With a slightly discontented sigh that he wasn’t there for her to hold instead of a wad of sheets and duvet, she closed her eyes and fell into sleep. Given the glorious evening, she was surprised to find herself experiencing dark dreams. They started off normal enough, as she relived her dinner with Sirius, but they grew more sinister as the hours ticked past. A shadow began to encroach, despite the candles throwing enough light to prevent it. Its darkness hung over dinner and made her heart beat faster.

It grew and stretched and became slightly more solid as time passed. This new figure, black and frightening, haunted her dreams. It seemed more like smoke made solid than anything else. It whipped with the breeze of the landscape and passed through walls to follow her like a menacing shadow wherever her mind tried to take her in sleep. Sirius of her dreams couldn’t fight it off, not like last time; it drew ever closer and Hermione’s spells had no effect. She sent hexes and curses at it, but they passed through it as they would through air.

Finally, she had no choice but to run. She fled through the castle corridors and over the grounds, into the Forbidden Forest, through the dark thickets and escaping out into the garden of her parents’ house. Still, it followed her.

She woke just as its fingers reached for her throat. Parvati was shaking her awake.

“Tell me everything!” Ginny demanded.

Hermione glared at them, in no humor for their rudeness or ridiculousness after sleeping so poorly. She wanted to roll over and fall back to sleep, but feared the figure would still follow her. Still, she affected that pose and clenched her eyes shut, pretending to sleep. The girls would have none of it and insisted on details, minute-by-minute accounts of everything that had happened from the second he took her arm.

“Leave me alone,” Hermione commanded and stood. She pushed past them and walked across the hall to the washroom, brushing away the hands that tried to pull her back and the voices begging for gossip. She slammed the door shut.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” Ginny laughed and waved the door open with her wand.

The girl had faced Death Eaters alongside Harry and Hermione, but the look on the Prefect’s face was one that chilled the youngest Weasley. Ginny was quite sure the stare could cause paint to peel from the walls. At the very least, it made her blood run cold.

“How dare you?” Hermione shouted. The slightest flick of her wand sent the redhead flying back across the hall and into Parvati and Lavender. They heard the washroom door slam with finality.

“Did Hermione, the perfect prefect, just use magic outside of the classroom?” Lavender asked. She meant it to sound sarcastic and biting given the points Hermione had taken from her for that very same act, but her voice was tiny after seeing the hardness in Hermione. Even Ginny was shocked both by the spell she had cast nonverbally and by the frightening coldness in her friend’s eyes.

“Maybe the date didn’t go as well as we thought,” Parvati offered weakly.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, but knew that was not the case. Something was wrong and it probably didn’t have anything to do with Sirius. 


	19. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit gets real. (Like whoa)

Lying in the warm scented bathwater alone and without anyone demanding information improved Hermione’s mood, but only by a fraction. Her head ached with a sharp pain like she was being stabbed alternately in either eye socket. Closing her eyes brought no relief as she suffered a near panic attack the first time she felt herself drift off to sleep, terrified that smoky figure would be there with its hands inches from her throat. The humidity of the washroom made her head swim and only increased her fear, doing nothing to alleviate her pain or her fatigue.

“Hermione! Tell us!” Lavender insisted the second the washroom door opened.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” the prefect said without humor.

“For what?” Lavender all but shouted.

“For getting in my way.”

Ginny laughed, thinking it a joke, “Good one.” There was no way that Hermione would be in so foul a mood that she would abuse her authority. She had seen the way Hermione and Sirius were going at it, and was convinced that the girl was only sore that she had to give him up for the night.

“You want points deducted, too?” Hermione’s face was a confusing mixture of emotions, at once confident and tired and annoyed and something else, possibly frightened.

“No,” Ginny replied slowly. “I guess we’ll leave you alone.” She gave her friend a wide berth as she left the room. The fifth year ran down the steps to the common room, determined to warn the others to give Hermione no grief that morning.

“Sirius!” She found him lounging in a chair by the fire while a seventh year had to make do with one of the less coveted chairs farther from the hearth. Sirius was new and a sixth year; either of these should have denied his claim to the chair, but no one could refuse the charismatic young man anything.

“The ginger oaf’s sister,” he smiled pleasantly. “Good morning.”

She glared at him. It had been funny the first time when he didn’t know her name, but it was getting old after so many days. “Yeah, morning, dead man,” she replied crisply.

“Cute,” he said baldly. “What do you want?”

“To warn you,” she glanced back at the door to the girls’ dorm to make sure the object of her concern wasn’t within earshot. “Hermione is in a really bad mood.”

He just stared at her, his grey eyes looking at her appraisingly, trying to determine what exactly was wrong with the pretty little fifth year. His first instinct was to say it was jealousy, but the girl had a boyfriend of her own and Harry waiting in the wings when that relationship failed. He had no choice but to assume every Weasley was just strange.

Ginny bristled under his gaze. “I’m not joking. She’s—“

“Coming down,” Sirius interrupted and nodded to the door. He noted how her freckles grew more prominent on her face as her skin paled even further. She really wasn’t joking if Hermione’s arrival scared her that much. Still, he thought with a smirk, the girl couldn’t be so vicious toward him. He stood and intercepted her before she reached the door.

“You were right,” he smiled.

“About what?” she asked gruffly.

His smile faltered slightly, but he persisted, “About your spell. I’m still here.”

“Lucky you,” she replied and walked around him, disappearing through the portrait hole.

“Told you,” the redhead sang.

“Shut up, Ginny,” he growled and followed after his girl. He had spent a painfully sleepless night thinking of Hermione and he wasn’t about to be denied her attentions because the stupid Gryffindor girls had pestered her into a hex-happy mood.

“Did you not enjoy our date?” he inquired pleasantly.

“What?” She asked, startled. “No, it was fine.”

“Fine? Just fine?”

“Wonderful, then,” she amended sarcastically.

“Wonderful works,” he approved, then smiled suggestively. “And the dessert?”

“We didn’t have dessert.”

“The figurative dessert,” he said. Her blank stare cut through him and made him question his abilities. “The kissing?”

“Oh, that,” she said quietly and not at all angrily. “That was nice, quite nice…”

He smirked. “Nice enough for another date? There would be a lot more ‘dessert’.”

It was not his imagination. Her cheeks were positively red; the modest blush coloring her pale skin deeply. “I’d like that.”

“Saturday,” he said.

“Okay.”

The promise of more time cradled in his lap with his mouth on hers and hands sliding up her thigh was more than enough to cheer her mood. The headache lessened slightly with her renewed happiness but it still throbbed, a dull ache behind her eyes, which only grew worse as her day went on. Her only relief was that it was Sunday. She sat in the silent library, reading at a far slower rate than she typically would and enjoying the warmth of Sirius’s arm touching hers. By nightfall she felt certain her dreams would be undisturbed, and she was never more wrong.

Defence official became her least favorite subject the following day. Snape normally ignored her, but that particular day he sensed the know-it-all wasn’t at her best and badgered her with a ruthlessness usually reserved only for Harry or Neville. Every time he opened his mouth to assault her with his words, the headache grew. Her eye began to twitch with repressed anger. Snape saw it and moved in for one more oily comment. He billowed close to keep his voice low but it was still too loud for Hermione’s ears.

“Miss Granger –“

“Buy a toothbrush, Snivellus,” Sirius muttered from beside her.

“Thirty points, Mr _Porter_ ,” Snape hissed angrily. “And detention.” His black eyes bore into Sirius who just shrugged and continued to take notes on the famous nonverbal duel between Brunhilda the Brave and Cecil the Stupid in 1549, which had lasted an unrivaled eighteen days. His irritatingly calm response kept the boy in Snape’s sights for the rest of the period for which Hermione was very grateful.

“Perhaps next Saturday for our date, then?” Sirius said as he strolled from the classroom.

“You didn’t have to get yourself in trouble for me,” she said tiredly. The fight to withhold her cutting replies to Snape had drained her and not even Sirius’s hand on her waist was enough to make the headache stop.

“What are boyfriends for but to do unspeakably stupid things to save their girlfriends?” he grinned as she snorted. “You laugh now, but you’ll see. There’s no limit to the dirty things I’d do to rescue you and your honor.”

“Git,” she muttered.

“And you love me for it.”

“Presumptuous git,” she laughed, though the sound pained her sensitive head.

She suffered through the noise of the Great Hall at lunch and dinner, yet the volume of the common room had her grinding her teeth and fighting to keep from deducting points from everyone who called to a friend. Her eyes tried again to concentrate on her homework, but it was no good. Her fatigue had caught up with her and she couldn’t keep her eyes focused. The stubborn persistence with which she approached her assignments wasn’t yielding the usual results.

“Just go to sleep, Hermione,” Harry told her after she jumped awake for the fifth time in the same number of minutes.

“I have so much to do…” she said weakly.

“But you’re not actually getting anything done,” insisted Harry.

“Yeah,” she agreed, knowing that she had read the same page in her book at least twice, maybe three times; she was too tired to know for certain. Without saying ‘good night’, she closed her book and trudged up the stairs. Her bed was too soft to be denied and she could only hope that the figure would not chase her a second night. She fell, fully clothed, onto her bed. Sleep took her instantly and the dark presence was there waiting for her.

She woke even more tired than she had been when she went to sleep. Her head ached so painfully she could barely think. Communication wasn’t an option, civil conversation was impossible. Her murderous glare silenced any attempts to speak to her. Lavender avoided her entirely that morning. Ginny eyed her warily and didn’t dare speak. All other Gryffindors learned quickly when she either snapped at them to shut up or deducted points for breathing too loudly.

Sirius slid his arm around her and tried charming her into a good mood again, but with little effect. She let him keep his arm on her waist and glared at him with less venom than she did anyone else, but that was the extent to which she cheered. It didn’t keep him from trying, though, and by dinner he managed a slight laugh and a kiss for his troubles.

Much to the shock and relief of everyone in the common room, Hermione threw her bag down and marched straight up to her bedroom immediately after dinner and never returned. No one dared voice their amazement that Hermione would ignore her homework for fear she was listening and might physically harm them. She hadn’t done it yet, but not one of the Gryffindors doubted she would if provoked by a laugh or loud noise.

Every day that passed saw a marked decrease in her mood. She grew paler, the skin below her eyes thinned and the blood vessels became more pronounced making it look as if she had been punched in both her eyes. She deducted points from everyone for anything – as many as fifty from a Hufflepuff third year who laughed quietly in the Great Hall during the time it was open for studying. She even took points from Sirius when he dropped onto the bench beside her and started whispering in her ear.

“Ten points for being annoying,” she said without humor.

“Just annoying?” he grinned. “How many points would you take away if I kissed you?”

“Another ten.”

“What if I…” he placed his hand deliberately on the bare skin above her knee.

“Twenty… if you tried,” she said dryly. It was as close to humor as he would get from her.

“Hm, twenty? But what if I got a bit bolder?” His hand slid up, attempting to disappear beneath the hem of her skirt. She stopped him.

“That would cost you one hundred points, and _if_ you tried to go any farther north, I would stop taking points and start hexing you instead.”

He considered her flinty eyes and the wand easily within her reach. “I think twenty points is worth it.” He brought his hand back to the modest but delightfully smooth and warm skin above her knee. “I’ll see about earning enough points to offset the one hundred for what I’d rather do.”

“Fine, twenty points from Gryffindor, then,” she said, a ghost of a smile touching her colorless lips. It wasn’t that she wanted him to leave her alone, far from it. But her head was pounding and she could barely function she was so tired.

 Sleep brought no relief. Every muscle screamed from the exertion she put forth in the night trying to fight off the disturbing dark creature, and, failing that, struggling to wake when it came too near. But she could never run fast enough and her tense body refused to wake. This left her fighting a losing battle to stay awake. She drank Pepper-Up potion liberally throughout her days and finally resorted to digging her nails into her palms until she bled; the pain helped her stay awake through the weekend.

Monday came again and Snape was smirking at breakfast when he saw just how horrid Hermione looked. She had hope for Defence Against the Dark Arts, despite the look of impending triumph on Snape’s face. If it was nonverbal practice again, the adrenaline of fighting off an attack would be enough to keep her awake.

She should have known better than to lay her hopes on Snape.

The classroom was oppressive with the moisture and warmth of a dozen cauldrons simmering in the dimly lit room. It was a room designed to lull Hermione to sleep, she was sure of it. The darkness was to be expected; his years in the dungeons had given Snape a preference for dark classrooms. But the timing of it was too perfect. There had been no mention of potions in the reading for today’s lesson.

She took her place between Harry and Sirius and waited, digging her nails into her thigh and hoping it would be enough to keep her awake. Her eyelids weighed down as the minutes past. The door shut quietly and Snape billowed past. His deep voice affected a rhythmic quality that had more heads than just Hermione’s drooping within the first five minutes. Harry elbowed her awake, but the lecture continued and no amount of prodding kept her from slipping into the sleep she had been avoiding for the past two nights.

“Who can tell us,” Snape said in his calm and soft voice, “the best way to avoid the effects of Veritaserum?” His eyes grazed the students, all slightly stupefied by the humidity, darkness and his voice. He saw no hands, and he smiled. “Miss Granger?”

Hermione let out an odd strangled noise and stiffened in her seat, but she didn’t wake.

“Miss Granger!” Snape shouted, his voice amplified by the stones. Her aching head reacted to the violent noise and she snapped awake. “Thirty points for daring to sleep in my class, Miss Granger.”

His greasy smirk slid from his face as Hermione adopted one of her own. “Points? Is that the best you can do?” she laughed. It was hard and cold and reminded Harry so much of Voldemort’s that he gripped his wand and slid away from her on the bench. 

“Such an impotent creature,” Hermione continued as she stood, “with only points and detentions at your command. How sad you must be, not being able to do what you really want to those who anger you.”

“Sit down, Miss Granger,” Snape warned, though his voice sounded positively hollow after hers.

“No,” she smiled. “You’ve no power to make me.”

She turned and walked to the door, which they all heard lock itself in the heavy silence. No one saw the movement of her wand or heard her utter a single charm, but they did see the lock and hinges of the door begin to glow white hot and melt away from the wood and stone. The ancient door dropped to the floor with a deafening thud and fell hard into the hallway, dust and dirt filling their eyes and obscuring Hermione’s exit.

“Shit,” Sirius swallowed.

“That can’t be good,” Harry agreed. 


	20. Worrisome Morning

The air felt like it had been pulled from the classroom as they all waited for Snape to react to Hermione’s outburst and premature exit. Harry itched to leave, but knew that Snape would take his anger out on him despite the promise to Lily. He tried to signal his teenage mother, gesturing and nodding for her to leave and follow, but she gave the tiniest shake of her head. Snape would not stop her, she knew that, but she didn’t want to have to explain to anyone how she had such privileges with the Defence professor. The small part of her that still thought of him as her friend also hated the idea of further emasculating Severus.

It took less than a minute for Snape to find his voice again, but it felt like so much longer to all the students who sat waiting. “Fifty more points from Gryffindor and, Mr Potter,” Snape sneered at his inability to torture Harry for not stopping his friend, “you will inform Miss Granger that she has detention for the rest of the month.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said quietly.

No one managed to concentrate on the lesson, least of all Sirius. He had spent the night comforting Hermione when she was terrified of turning evil, now it looked that her fears might actually have been correct. His gut clenched as he realized that he should have been there for her. She hadn’t been sleeping and he hadn’t comforted her once. He had the ability and the desire to stay with her, but he thought she needed the sleep. He hadn’t wanted to bother her, knowing full well that if he snuck into her bedroom they would kiss and feel the night away.

Before Snape had finished dismissing them, Sirius was running from the classroom, Harry and Ron not far behind him. The common room was crowded and noisy and Hermione was nowhere in it. Sirius wanted to run up the stairs on four legs and check her bedroom, but there were too many girls coming and going.

“Ginny!” he shouted at the redhead as soon as she came down the stairs. Her biting comment about his rudeness or quip about his ability to remember her name when it suited him turned to a cry of protest as he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “Go check on Hermione.”

“Are you insane?” she asked. “I’d like to keep breathing! I’m not going to annoy her.”

“Now!” he shoved her rudely.

“Bastard. I liked you better when you were old,” she stuck her tongue out and continued to grumble about his lack of manners as she went back up the stairs. The sixth year girls were all in the common room or on their way back from class, so Ginny knew that she would have no one to protect if Hermione got angry. It was small comfort.

She reached the door and considered knocking, but decided against it. A silencing spell on the hinges ensured that they would not creak and further irritate the prefect. Ginny popped her head through the gap, looking around quickly and ducking back into the stairwell. No shouts or hexes flew her way, so she put her head in again to take a proper look. The curtains were closed on Hermione’s bed.

On quiet tip-toes, Ginny snuck into the room. She stopped every few inches to listen, but heard nothing. It took what felt like ages to finally reach Hermione’s bed. She put her ear to the heavy scarlet curtain and listened. She heard slow, deep breathing.

“Hermione?” the fearful fifth year whispered. “Are you awake?”

No reply came. Her hand shook as she reached out and pulled the curtain aside. She looked in and saw Hermione lying on her side, a smile on her face as she slept. Ginny was relieved. Her friend hadn’t been sleeping well lately, she knew, so if she was sleeping this soundly, it had to be a good thing. The rest of Gryffindor would be very happy when Hermione finally woke up well-rested.

She returned to the common room where the sixth years had been telling everyone how Hermione had completely humiliated their least favorite teacher. Sirius was waiting by the doorway, leaning in and watching for her return.

“Is she alright?”

Ginny shrugged. “She’s sleeping.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Harry asked. “She was just really tired and snapped.”

Ron nodded too enthusiastically. “Like third year when she slapped Malfoy.”

Harry glanced at his dead parents, remembering the disturbing illustration in the book that caused their return to life. He remembered the poem, the source of evil and he began to worry. “Maybe we ought to tell Dumbledore.”

“Snape probably went whining to him by now,” Ron snorted.

“I like you much better when you’re insulting my enemies,” Sirius commented warmly to the redheaded boy.

“Git,” Ron glared at him.

“He’s right, though,” James said. “Snivellus most likely ran to the Headmaster as soon as he dismissed us.”

“Git,” Ron repeated, though his ire was directed at Snape and not at Sirius or James.

“Still,” Harry said. “Even tired, that’s not like Hermione. She wouldn’t insult a teacher… not to his face anyway.” His brow knit down into a deep concentration that was normal for the afflicted youth, but one that Sirius found unsettling on someone who looked so like the light-hearted James Potter. It suited Harry in a way that it didn’t suit James and he felt bad for the boy, assuming he had been through far more than he had let on.

“I’m going,” Harry declared and hurried to the portrait hole. Sirius followed, as did the others. Only Ginny remained, knowing that she wasn’t supposed to be aware of the dead rising at Hogwarts. She didn’t care to have McGonagall or Dumbledore lecturing her about snooping or prying secrets from her friends. She sat back and waited for them to return.

News traveled fast at Hogwarts, Harry knew, but he was still surprised when the gargoyle hopped aside without a single password being uttered and allowed them entrance to the Headmaster’s office. He ran up the stairs and pushed the door open without knocking, knowing that he would not be punished for it.

“Harry,” Professor Dumbledore gestured him forward. “I’m told there was rather an incident in Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said. “Hermione lost her temper.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Usually it is her saying that of you.”

Harry ducked his head rather ashamed to have that brought up in front of his family, but he heard a small laugh. “Inherited that from you, ya know,” James muttered to Lily, who elbowed him to shut up. “See, poor boy didn’t stand a chance.”

“Professor Snape has already informed me of Miss Granger’s actions in his classroom,” The Headmaster informed them. “However, I would like to know what lead to her outburst. Has Miss Granger been having any problems?”

“She’s not been sleeping well,” Harry said. “Not been sleeping at all the last two nights.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“A week?” Harry glanced at the other for confirmation.

“Since last Saturday night,” Sirius said. He remembered how she had not reacted at all as he expected after their date. Lack of sleep had to have been the reason.

“Has she mentioned any reason for her poor sleep?” Dumbledore looked to Sirius, as the boy clearly had an affection and attachment to her; he more than the others would be most in her confidence.

He shook his head. “She hasn’t been talking much… about anything.”

Dumbledore’s eyes passed over their faces, taking in the anxiety on each of them as they observed the dull, lightless blue of his eyes. There was no twinkle today. Hermione’s outburst would be worrisome enough if there weren’t three dead students standing before him.

“Professor,” asked Harry slowly “do you think this has anything to do with the book?”

Dumbledore rose and walked over to where Remus had left the translation just twenty minutes earlier. He had gone back to the Defence classroom with Snape to check for any residual magic. The irate professor’s description of how she had melted the hinges with barely a flick of her wand and a nonverbal spell had them deeply concerned. Remus had been glad of the distraction, though the reason for it was frightening; he had been living at the castle these past few weeks, spending every hour of his day translating the Deatheater Chronicles from Middle English. He had made a fair dent in the book, but still had few answers for his efforts.

With his withered hand hidden cleverly in his sleeve, Dumbledore gestured to the translations. “Mr Lupin has been working tirelessly, but as yet we have no understanding of how it has worked.”

“If it is the book,” Sirius looked at the Muggle book and found it hard to believe it could be the source of their situation, “why didn’t this happen straight away?”

“A fine question, Mr Black,” Dumbledore said. “Perhaps Mr Lupin will be able to tell us more…” He motioned to the door just as Remus entered.

Remus glanced at them but spoke directly to the Headmaster. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said. “Whether we ought to be happy about that or not, I can’t tell.”

“Why wouldn’t we be happy about it?” Harry asked, confused. “That means it was just Hermione and not anything dark, right?”

Lupin shook his head sadly. “It might mean the darkness has taken hold of her so strongly it can pass its magic off as hers. Nonverbal magic performed with almost no help from the wand… that’s powerful, Harry.”

“No,” Ron laughed nervously. “That’s just Hermione. She knows loads of spells we don’t.”

Remus smiled, remembering Hermione in her third year as she pestered him for more details and more advanced spells than those he had provided the rest of the class. She did the same every summer since the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix. Every chance she found to corner him at Number 12 or The Burrows, she would demand more information than their previous professor had given them, despite having half the contents of the Hogwarts library memorized.

He realized, with no small amount of pride, that he would always be her professor. And he enjoyed seeing her progress and Harry’s, and comparing their other teacher’s lessons to his own. Umbridge was a joke, though far from funny. And he had been surprised at how good a teacher Barty Crouch, Jr. had been, despite being a homicidal Death Eater in disguise. Though, he did realize that the Death Eater had spent most of his Azkaban sentence hiding in his father’s home studying and plotting, and that Voldemort did not recruit based on purity of blood alone; skill and cunning were equally as vital and far more useful to the Dark wizard, which was probably why he recruited the half-blooded Snape to his cause so long ago.

The thought struck him that even a Muggle-born might be welcomed into the Death Eaters if she proved herself powerful enough. He shook the frightening thought from his mind and focused on Ron’s comment.

“Yes, Hermione knows spells most of you don’t, but she also knows when not to use them. In class, even if Severus was focusing all his malice on her, she knows better than to say a word against him,” Remus said with absolute conviction. “Something is wrong.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron replied glumly. “I was just hoping you’d tell us different.”

 


	21. Alteration Find

Word spread quickly. Within hours everyone in school knew what Hermione had said and done during Defence Against the Dark Arts on Monday morning. Whispers dogged Snape’s slightest move and nearly every student, even first years, stopped Harry and his friends to find out how much of the rumors were true. It took all their power to remove themselves from a demanding group of third year Ravenclaws who had cornered them in the Great Hall, almost making them late for Potions despite leaving the Gryffindor tower with an hour to spare that morning.

Harry skidded to a stop just inside the door.

“What the hell, Potter?” Sirius shoved him forward before stumbling to a stop of his own. “Hermione?”

The girl was sitting at her usual table, flipping idly through the textbook. The other students were giving her plenty of room, despite desperately wanting to know what she had been thinking when she dared talk back to Snape. It was the consensus of the whole school, save the Slytherins, that she ought to be awarded a metal before being shipped off to St. Mungo’s.

Harry wasn’t sure how she would react, but he poked her warily in the shoulder anyway. She turned, looking mildly amused as she saw his face. The color was back in her cheeks, the heavy circles that had been weighing down her eyes were gone. She looked normal.

She smiled, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Harry said cautiously. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she said brightly. “I actually slept.”

He wanted to ask more, but Slughorn came in with a jovial ‘hello’ and an especially pleasant smile for Hermione. Harry couldn’t imagine that the old wizard approved of her behavior, so he assumed it was the professor’s way of keeping her from causing such a scene in his classroom, too. Slughorn pushed on, quizzing the students on the value of Polyjuice Potion, which they had started learning the previous week. Hermione seemed her normal self, raising her hand with every question and earning Gryffindor a record number of points in the first fifteen minutes of class.

“Divide into pairs and begin brewing Polyjuice Potion,” Slughorn instructed.

Hermione slouched in her seat. “So boring, I’ve done this already.”

“Hermione?” Harry asked, amazed that she didn’t want to show how proficient she was. The fact that she had already made the potion in their second year meant that she could prepare it flawlessly and faster than anyone else. It might not have been a challenge, but it would easily win her more points and esteem.

She just shrugged and started chopping the ingredients that Lily had brought from the store cabinet. “Harry, after class can I borrow your potions book?” she asked casually.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why? Are you going to turn it in?”

“No,” she laughed. “I just wanted to see some of those notes in the margins.”

His hands stilled and he studied her. She hated the notes in the margins of his book. She had said so repeatedly and that she distrusted of anything the Half-Blood Prince had written and wanted Harry to turn the book over to the first teacher he could find. Why would she want to study the notes? “Fine, but you’ll look at it in the common room where I can make sure you won’t hurt it,” Harry said defensively, like it was his most prized possession, which it was fast becoming.

She sighed at his mistrust and shook her head. “That’s fine, Harry. I won’t harm your baby.” She smiled and turned back to her preparations, instructing Lily how best to pulverize the knotgrass. Harry watched her as well as he could while preparing his own potion. The Half-Blood Prince hadn’t left many notes on these pages, so he had to follow the same preparations as everyone else. The results were far from what Slughorn had come to expect from Harry.

“That was awful,” Harry moaned as they trudged up the stairs from the dungeons. “Slughorn noticed how miserable I am.”

A brief silence followed before Ron glanced over at Hermione and asked, “Uh… Hermione, aren’t you going to ‘I told you so’ him?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” she shrugged and went back to flipping through one of her books while she walked, Sirius’s arm guiding her through the corridors to keep her from walking into a wall.

“Maybe having a boyfriend mellowed her?” Harry suggested doubtfully. She seemed normal enough, but something just wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t name it, but he knew she wasn’t completely herself. He’d have to talk to Remus again, but worried that Hermione would get angry if he suggested they go visit him and Dumbledore.

As they climbed the last stairs and passed into the entrance hall, he saw Professor McGonagall waiting for them, and Harry sighed his relief that he wouldn’t have to ask Hermione to go to see Remus. “Miss Granger, I’m pleased to see you looking so well. The Headmaster would like a word with you about your behavior yesterday.”

The girl nodded and followed the stern Transfiguration professor up to the Headmaster’s office. Harry and the others tailed them, not wanting to miss out on anything Hermione might reveal. Harry waited for McGonagall to mention how Hermione had changed. However, if the old witch noticed any difference outside her improved health, she didn’t see fit to mention it. He was starting to wonder if the alterations to his friend were just in his head, but Ron seemed just as worried.

“You may go up,” McGonagall told the others.

Hermione was already in Dumbledore’s office when they reached the top of the stairs. “You wished to see me, Professor?”

“Yes, Miss Granger, your behavior toward Professor Snape was unacceptable, as I’m sure you are aware,” the old wizard spoke kindly.

“Yes, Professor,” she said, not sounding in the least bit sorry.

“You will serve only one detention, however, as you were under considerable strain at the time,” Dumbledore informed her.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Miss Granger,” he said, his voice implying the weight of what he was about to say. “What was it that caused you to lose so much sleep?”

Hermione looked at his eyes, their usual twinkle barely a glimmer in his present state of deep concern. “Nightmares,” she said. “There was a figure – probably just a symbol of my fear or of the book – that kept chasing me no matter where I ran. Every time I went to sleep, it was there.”

“It frightened you,” Dumbledore said, noting that she spoke calmly of it now.

“It was silly of me to be so frightened; I know that now,” she replied. “I don’t know what I was so afraid of.”

“You have slept since?”

She nodded. “Quite well, thank you.”

“You will let me know if the figure comes to you again,” Dumbledore said.

“It won’t,” she said confidently. “But should it come again, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” he smiled. “Mr Lupin, have you any questions for Miss Granger?”

Lupin studied the girl for a moment before speaking. “What happened before the dreams started?”

“I went on a date with Sirius,” she waved to the boy who was leaning with casually on the doorframe. He shifted as she said it; she sounded bored and her lazy gesture didn’t seem at all like her usual decisive movements.

“That’s all?”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s all.”

“Well, I’ll keep at it,” Lupin said, looking back to his books. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “May I go?”

Dumbledore nodded and Lupin gave a wave of his hand as he sat down and began reading. Sirius and James knew him better than that. It was the same posture and wave he gave to them when he was in school with them, when he wasn’t really reading but wanted them to go away.

“You coming?” Hermione asked the others.

“I have a dead bloke question,” James said. “It might affect Harry, but you go on ahead.”

“A dead bloke question?” Sirius repeated, sounding perfectly innocent. “Perhaps I ought to stay and hear it. I’ll catch up.” He smiled at her as she shrugged and turned, Ron and Lily following her out anxious to keep an eye on her.

The dead boys pushed the doors shut and turned. Their voices overlapped as did their concerns:

“What do you know?”  
“Something’s wrong.”

“Moony,” Sirius demanded. “You know something.”

“Yes,” Remus said.

“She’s wrong,” Harry said. “She’s happy and laughs and doesn’t take points for no reason, but she’s wrong.” He couldn’t articulate it any better than that, but at least he knew he wasn’t the only one to notice it.

“I thought it might be the influence of all the translating,” Lupin breathed a humorless laugh.

“What did it say?” James hurried around the desk to read over his shoulder.

“It’s a book, Prongs,” Sirius snorted. “It can’t _say_ anything.”

“Now is not the time for being a git,” James glared at him. Harry wanted to laugh; they never stopped. But he had to agree that it was not a good time.

“The book _reads_ ,” Remus said pointedly, looking at a smug Sirius as he said it, “that after the orphan raised his parents, a change affected him. He became detached from the things he loved and turned increasingly toward the Darkness. Now, I’m not saying this is in the least bit accurate to what actually happened, but you need to watch Hermione. Has she shown any loss of interest in her studies?”

Harry didn’t know how to answer. “Well, she was just as Hermione as she ever was at the start of class.”

“How do you mean?”

Harry imitated her emphatic hand-raising. Remus laughed. He remembered that all too well from his time as her teacher. “That’s a good sign, but…?”

“Well… when Slughorn set the assignment, she just didn’t seem at all interested,” he said. “But, she had brewed that potion once already.”

“Even so, that isn’t like her,” Remus said, frowning.

Sirius, too, frowned. He frowned at Moony knowing his girlfriend better than he did. He frowned that he hadn’t noticed Hermione acting strangely in class. He frowned that she hadn’t kissed him when he slid his arm around her after they had been dismissed by Slughorn. He frowned again at the indifferent wave she used when she spoke of their date. Their date…

“She cast a spell,” he remembered.

“I’m sorry?” Remus asked.

“On our date,” he said, trying to remember the exact circumstances. “She cast a spell that she thought would keep me solid so I wouldn’t disappear again.”

“Do you remember it?”

“Carnem Confer-something,” Sirius shrugged. “I was too busy panicking that she had cast a spell on me without asking first.”

“That would be ‘carnem confirmare’,” Remus said. “It solidifies flesh, but I’ve never heard of it being cast on a living person.”

“Are we technically living?” Sirius asked with a sardonic smile.

“Would that have done it?” Harry asked. “You said she was okay. You said she cast the spell from that book for someone else and so she was okay.” He realized he sounded like a child, but he was worried and running out of brain cells capable of processing what was happening. Most of them had been used up accepting that his parents were alive and teenagers, the rest went to dealing with Sirius dating his best friend. He had only a few left and he needed those for basic human functions like breathing.

“That should be the case,” Remus insisted.

“Harry,” Dumbledore spoke again, making the boy jump. He had forgotten the Headmaster was even there, he had been so quiet. “Remus is correct. If the spell Miss Granger read from that book was cast with love for another, it would have no effect on her. However, the magic of the book is still in her. When she cast that spell to return your family to life, the power behind the spells entered her. As with any magic, it could be used for good or bad. You saw this when her anger lashed out at Miss Parkinson.”

Harry sunk into the chair opposite the old wizard. So Hermione had been evil when she cast the spell to burn Pansy. “But…”

“This could have been building from the moment she sent that hex at Miss Parkinson,” Dumbledore said. “Or it might have been the spell to prevent young Mr Black from vanishing again. We can only wait and observe Miss Granger’s behavior. She may be perfectly fine.”

“She’s not,” Harry insisted.

“Keep watch,” Remus said. “Cast a locator charm on her, use the Map, follow her as a dog; just keep watch.”

Harry didn’t like how urgent the instructions sounded. He was used to threats of evil and darkness, but not coming from his own friends. He nodded numbly and made for the door without being properly excused. The two dead boys followed. They were properly terrified, their lives never having been shadowed by such darkness before.

Ron met them down by the gargoyle. “Lily and Hermione went back to the tower. What’s up?”

“They think Hermione’s evil,” Harry said.

“Figured,” Ron replied with a sigh. “The one year when all we have to deal with is Malfoy and some other evil pops up. I blame you for this, Harry.”

“Git,” Harry shoved him.

James stared open mouthed at the display. Sure, he and Sirius acted that way every time they open their mouths, but not in the face of such dark magic. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Your friend is cursed! Evil, darkness, death and all that. Were you listening? Aren’t you worried?”

Ron snorted. Harry shrugged, “You get used to it.”

James smacked him on the head. “You wait till your mother hears about this.”


	22. Strange Behaviour

Anxious eyes followed her everywhere she went. Harry and Ron walked with her to classes, Sirius sat with her in the library, Lily or Ginny went with her into the girls’ lavatory or washroom. Hermione was never alone. The rest of the school got bored with the rumors after a few days and started treating her as they always had, but Harry and his friends and family kept watching.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. He didn’t expect that a Dark Mark would suddenly spring up on her arm one morning and she’d be running the halls hexing all the Muggle-borns, but the way Remus had warned them made Harry’s skin crawl with the possibilities of what damage might be done if the brightest witch in the school suddenly took to the Dark Arts.

Nothing seemed stranger than normal, however. Hermione attended classes and studied same as they all did. Her detention with Snape, which had worried Harry to distraction, passed without incident. Lily, calmest of them all, sat in the Defence classroom hidden under an invisibility cloak. Snape didn’t attack the girl with oily comments and Hermione served her punishment without a word, arriving, performing her task of drying boomslang skins with a dehydration charm, and leaving without so much as a ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’.

The changes came so slowly they didn’t realize they were happening. Hermione spent her time in the library, as she always did, so no one paid any attention to that. They didn’t see that she wasn’t bothering with her textbooks or further reading on the topic of their homework. Instead, she was reading other books, far more interesting books; books on hexes and curses that would worry even the most hardened Auror. Slughorn gave her permission to peruse the Restricted Section. His was the only class in which her grades weren’t slipping, and he seemed to take particular pride in that. Her high Potions performance had nothing to do with Slughorn’s skill as a teacher or any interest she had in the subject; her only aim was to keep in The Slug Club, with all those influential witches and wizards in positions of prominence and authority.

Only Sirius noticed the difference. Their second date had to be postponed first because of his detention and then because of hers. It shouldn’t have made any great difference, though. They lived in the same tower and could spend all evening kissing if they wanted to, but she showed very little interest in the activity. She didn’t lean in to him as she used to when he sat beside her, or giggle when he whispered in her ear. Whenever he slid an arm around her or leaned in to kiss her, she accepted the movement, but rarely returned any affection.

The charming black-haired boy sat down at breakfast beside her, and wrapped his arm around her waist. She glanced down and his hand on her side and went back to eating. He had come to enjoy her playful chiding when he tried to pull her close for kisses in the middle of the Great Hall, but she didn’t say a word to him. Even when she was sleep-deprived, she reacted to his touch, but now it was like he didn’t matter.

“Are you free for another date Saturday?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said without turning toward him.

“Friday, then.”

“No,” she put down her fork and looked at him. “I don’t think I’ll be bothered with that. I’m too busy.”

He was so glad no one was paying any attention to them. This would murder his reputation. “You do remember the ‘dessert’, don’t you?”

“Yes, you kiss very well,” she gave his hand a condescending pat. “I’m just not interested anymore.”

He withdrew his unwanted hand and watched her as she went back to eating her breakfast. She was the first girl to break up with him in quite some time, which was saying something for Sirius, who had more girlfriends than most of Gryffindor put together. He had been through more breakups than most, too, and he thought it shouldn’t hurt. But this hurt more than the first time a girl said she didn’t want to see him anymore, and they had dated for half a year. He and Hermione had gone on one date, coerced at that; he questioned if they could even be considered an item. Yet it felt like his lungs were collapsing.

His hand tried to reach out for hers, but he redirected it toward his plate, pushing it away to signal the House Elves that he was finished with his food so they could magically clear his plate. He stood and walked away, his face a perfect mask.

The common room was bustling with students rushing to gather their parchments and books from the previous night’s study sessions. Sirius passed through it all, the rushed students parting around him as he trudged up the stairs to his bed. If it weren’t for the spell Hermione had cast on him, he was sure he would disappear and not been seen for months. He thought that sounded pretty good.

“Sirius, you seen my Magic Creatures book?” Seamus asked him.

“No, I haven’t,” he said, sounding perfectly normal to everyone but James. The boy could see the subtle indicators that Sirius couldn’t hide with his cool and indifference façade. It came after years of being together in stupid or painful situations, and even in this second life he could recognize depression in his friend. He waited for Seamus to leave before he said anything.

“What happened?”

Sirius slumped onto his bed. “She doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

James wanted to laugh. That was all? Hermione broke up with him? He thought it would be something horrible like oblivion calling him back, but a breakup was easy. Sirius had one every three weeks whether he needed it or not; like a haircut only easier, the boy always joked. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius fell backward and wished the spell to leave his body. Instead the only thing he felt leaving was his pride and some tears along with it.

James watched his friend cry. He hadn’t seen Sirius cry since their third year, and then it was only because he was in serious physical pain. Not even running away from home and the lingering agony of the Crutiatus Curse had made him cry. “Oh, shit.” James realized too late, “Sirius, are you in love?”

“If I am, it doesn’t matter,” he said, still sounding as he always did to anyone who didn’t know him better. “She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“No,” James insisted and pulled Sirius back up by his tie. He gripped the boy’s shoulders until it hurt and stared into his eyes, as if that might bring back his normalcy. “It’s the book, remember? She’s evil from the book.”

“Every fantasy story I’ve ever read has the good girl turn sexy when she’s evil,” Sirius smirked sadly. “She’s not interested.”

“This isn’t one of your randy fantasy books,” James smacked him on the head. “This is reality, where the evil makes her break up with you. So get up and let’s find a way to stop it!”

“They were Peter’s fantasy books,” Sirius corrected and fell backwards again.

“Dammit, Padfoot, quit being such a woman!”

“Go to hell,” Sirius said. “And take me with you.”

“Git,” James muttered and left him there to wallow. He rushed through the common room, the other students not parting quite so readily for him as they did for Sirius, but a sharp elbow to one or two quickly got the message that he was not one to be pushed around.

Once through the portrait hole he ran through the corridors to the Great Hall. Breakfast was the last thing on his mind; he was there to see Hermione. She had broken up with Sirius that morning, and he expected to see something different about her. There ought to be an aura of evil or at least a faint sadness about her, but she looked as she did any other day of the past couple weeks that he had been observing her. Regardless of the fact that she was a girl, he wanted desperately to march in there and kick her arse for hurting his practically-adopted brother.

“Problem, Mr Porter?” a deep and sarcastic voice asked quietly. Snape was looming just a few feet to his right, arms folded and looking as much like a spider lying in wait as anything else. “You look as if you might be thinking of starting a fight.”

“Not at all, _sir_ ,” James smiled pleasantly, though his teeth ground together from the effort of maintaining a civil and respectful front to Snivellus.

“Good,” Snape smirked. “Then be on your way.”

James mimicked his smirked and purposely took his time strolling into the Great Hall, feeling Snape’s eyes boring into the back of his head as he went. He dropped onto the bench just inside the door and glanced at Hermione further down the bench. She was turning the pages of her book and nibbling on toast, looking as normal as any of the other Gryffindors. He turned his narrowed eyes away from her and took some toast for himself.

When he felt the burning eyes leave his back, James turned. He watched as the black cloak billowed away through the entrance hall. It was Monday and they had Defence that morning, but Snape wasn’t heading toward his classroom. James dropped his toast and ran to the door, watching as Snape billowed out the main entrance.

“Where do you think you’re going, Snivellus?” James wondered aloud.

The Chaser did what he did best, and chased him. He snuck after the oily professor, hiding behind whatever tree or rock he could find until there was nothing left and he was forced to stand and watch Snape march purposefully down the path and away toward the gate. It made no sense; they had DADA in under an hour. What was Snape doing leaving Hogwarts? Who would teach his class? James hurried back to the castle, and found Harry at the Gryffindor table. Sirius was there, too, his mask firmly back in place.

“Snivelly just left school grounds,” he told them.

“What?” Harry’s eyes went wide with shock. It was too much to hope for. Snape would never miss the opportunity to torture James and Sirius, since Harry was now off limits.

“He left school grounds,” James repeated insistently. “I just watched him go.”

“No,” Ron said with hopeful disbelief. “He wouldn’t miss his own class.”

Neither Ron nor Harry noticed that Sirius had nothing to add to the conversation as they speculated what Snape might be doing leaving grounds that close to first period. James watched him from the corner of his eye and worried what might be happening under that carefully placed façade. Hermione wasn’t paying much attention to them, just a raised eyebrow at the idea of Snape leaving, and Sirius paid her just as much attention. It would have been painfully awkward had they not something so odd to discuss.

“I can’t wait to see what happens,” Ron said and jumped up. “Let’s go get the good seats.”

“What if he’s back in time, though?” Harry muttered. “We’ll be sitting ducks for him in the good seats.”

Ron shrugged and hurried to the door. They followed, Lily walking close to Hermione. She was still keeping close watch on the girl even if the boys were more interested in Snape at the moment. She noticed how Sirius hadn’t sat beside her or put an arm around her as he did every chance he got. The redhead had also noticed the increasingly cool reaction his attentions had been receiving with each passing day.

While she would never say it aloud for fear of increasing his already astronomically large ego, girls did not cool to Sirius Black’s flirting, they craved it. She had seen more than her fair share of girls and more than a few boys embarrass themselves trying to win his attention but apparently Hermione had brushed him and his flirting hands off. It wasn’t normal, especially considering the Gryffindor’s initial response. She eyed Hermione with a good deal more suspicion as they walked to class that morning. 


	23. Out With the New, In With the Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Remus teaches like a BOSS! and Snape drags Voldemort into the mix.

Harry was amazed at the difference one man could make, or rather the lack of one man; just knowing that Snape might not be there that morning made the classroom seem brighter, the atmosphere less oppressive. The room even seemed to smell nicer. He sighed and felt a weight lift off him as he sat down in his usual seat. Ron pulled at him to move closer to the front, but Harry refused. He would not make himself a target should Snape return. Ron grumbled a bit, but sat down next to him.

“Good morning,” a familiar and welcome voice called to them a few minutes later. Harry spun around to see Lupin wearing teaching robes over his usual brown suit, smiling at the students and closing the door to the classroom. Delighted murmurs followed his path up to the front of the classroom. “Professor Snape had some urgent business to attend to, and I will be taking his place for the day.”

Harry was dying to know what was so important that Snape would willingly let Remus back into the classroom, but knew the question would have to wait.

“Wands out, books away,” Lupin ordered, a mischievous glint in his eye. Sirius and James grinned brighter than even Harry when they saw that glint. Remus was smarter than any of the other Marauders and when he set himself to plotting, he plotted better than anyone. Even if he had ‘matured’, they were certain this would be a fun morning.

A wave of his wand vanished the desks and chairs leaving the students to stand and throw their bags against the walls, waiting anxiously for Lupin’s instructions. All who had sat his course three years earlier remembered how much fun his hands-on lessons were.

“Now, I remember you from when I was your professor a few years back,” he nodded to Harry. “I know what you can do, and I’m told that most of you have become quite adept at nonverbal spells. We’re going to test that today.”

Parvati groaned. “But, Professor Lupin, we’ve had plenty of one on one dueling with Snape.”

“ _Professor_ Snape,” he corrected, ignoring the snorts from James and Sirius at hearing someone refer to their friend as ‘Professor Lupin’. “And yes, I know. We will not be dueling.” James was awed that a professor was allowed to smirk so blatantly.

A flick of Remus’s wand and a silent spell brought a large traveling trunk into the room. The trunk took up most of the space directly in front of him. The contents shook as he walked around it, giving the students time to speculate on the contents. It was tall enough that he could lean back and sit on it without bending his knees, wide enough that four of them could sit side by side and not touch hips. At the excited murmur of the students, the trunk jumped as the creature or creatures inside struggled to break loose.

“Is it a Bogart again?” Harry asked.

“I am offended that you think I would need to repeat lessons, Mr Potter,” Remus said sternly, but the glint still sparkled in his eye. “No, in this case you will find your adversary for the lesson. It cannot be reasoned with and loud noises excite it… when it is excited it gets rather restless as we can all see.” A swift rap of his knuckles on the lid made the beast within jump and the trunk moved a full foot to the left. “Any verbal spells will mean an attack on whomever speaks… Nonverbal spells are the only way you can escape.”

“That looks a bit dangerous for practice,” Ron edged away from the trunk.

“You think so, Mr Weasley?” Lupin raised a questioning eyebrow and smirked again. “The spell you need to fend off the creature is ‘Sedato’. Try it now verbally.”

The class waved their wands as he demonstrated and said the spell together. A feeling of calm spread over the room, Harry felt his worries and fear melt and even the creature stopped throwing its body around the trunk momentarily.

“Excellent,” Remus smiled. “Now, nonverbally.” The effect wasn’t nearly as noticeable, but the spell did work to a lesser degree.

“I don’t think we’re prepared for this, Professor,” Harry said.

“No better way to learn that through trying, Mr Potter,” Lupin said and threw the trunk open.

Harry had expected something massive and grotesque, with razor teeth and enormous bloody claws and bristling hairs. What he saw was a dog. Admittedly it was massive dog, larger than any he’d ever seen, including Sirius’s Animagus form which was so large it could easily be mistaken for a bear. This dog was immense and its mouth was indeed grotesque, though not frightening. Its mouth was dripping with saliva, leaving a puddle where it stood. Harry cringed at the thought of being licked by that slobbering mouth.

The initial fear faded quickly and, despite Remus’s warnings, students began to laugh at the dog, loudly.

It barked once enthusiastically at the noise and then leapt out of the traveling trunk onto the nearest student, Parvati. She screamed, which only made the dog more excited. It knocked the girl down and started licking at her face.

“Get it off!” Parvati screamed.

“If you want her to go away, you have to get her to calm down, Miss Patel,” Remus said. “Remember your spell, ‘Sedato’.”

The girl managed to get her arm out from under the furry, massive creature that was far too large to be a normal dog. She waved her wand and said the spell aloud. Her panicked voice inspired a wave of new licks.

“Only nonverbal spells will stop her, Miss Patel,” Remus reminded her.

The tormented girl furrowed her brow, trying to concentrate on the spell, which was made very difficult by the dog’s drooling mouth so near her face. As abruptly as it attacked, the dog stepped back and sat down.

“Very nicely done, Miss Patel,” Lupin said quietly so as not to disturb the calmed dog, helping the girl up, setting her back a few paces where the dog couldn’t pounce at her again. The buzz of excitement ran through the assembled class, but no one dared to speak. Their eyes stayed trained on the massive beast that wagged her tail happily and looked to each student with hope. Before anyone could tear their eyes off the drooling dog, Remus snuck around behind them and pushed Sirius into the dog’s sights, shouting, “Next!”

At the loud noise, the dog jumped up and attacked Sirius with as much saliva and tongue as she had Parvati. “Nasty!” Sirius complained, but at least he had mass enough to keep standing with the dog’s weighty paws on his chest. He waved his wand and the dog calmed and left him alone. One by one the students were attacked, some were forced to the floor when the dog pounced merrily at them, others managed to stay standing. Not everyone could calm the dog on the first try and the laughter from the other students always set the dog going again so quickly that some, like Parvati, were subjected to the slobbery attention more often than seemed fair.

“Miss Granger,” Lupin said, “I believe you’ve not had your chance.” The students cleared a path for the dog to reach her, but the bitch whimpered and backed away from the cold glare the girl gave the massive beast.

“It appears to not want to try, Professor,” she said simply.

“Quite,” Remus said quietly and pushed James into the dog’s path again. The dog happily attacked the boy, who couldn’t hold his laughter back long enough to focus on the spell. No one was willing to come to his aid and the dog bathed him in wet licks for nearly five minutes. He was eventually saved by Remus, who calmed the dog and placed her back into the traveling trunk.

“Professor Snape will be back for next week’s lesson and will be expecting a fifteen inch essay on the importance of avoiding distractions and maintaining ones composure while attempting to cast a nonverbal spell,” Remus informed them. “Class is dismissed.” As the students began to laugh themselves from the room, he called out to them. “Mr Potter and the Porters, stay back a moment.”

Ron took the hint that he was expected to watch over Hermione until they joined him in the Great Hall and hurriedly followed her into the corridor.

“Please tell me that wherever Snape went is very dangerous and he might die so you can be our professor again,” Harry begged, in no way ashamed that he was wishing death or serious bodily harm to another human being.

“Well, it is dangerous,” Remus nodded and smiled at the compliment, “but nothing he hasn’t been through already.”

“Damn,” Harry muttered.

“So where’d old Snivelly run off to?” James smirked as he waved his wand and cleaned the dog’s slobber from himself.

“ _Professor Snape_ ,” Remus said pointedly, “went to Voldemort.” Remus didn’t acknowledge the shocked gasps that came from the dead students and continued speaking, “He’s certain that he can get Voldemort to show him his copy of The Deatheater Chronicles.”

“Can he do that?” Harry asked as he wiped his face clean. “Just go in unannounced? He doesn’t have to get summoned?”

“Apparently not,” Remus said. “He’s one of Voldemort’s favorites, so he has privileges.”

“Stop!” James managed to find his voice after a few moments of sputtering. “Snivelly is a Death Eater?”

“Was,” Remus corrected. “He’s now a spy, and a very valuable one.”

“I knew he had it in him,” Lily smiled, making James grumble out curses.

“Will it help?” Harry asked. “The book? Hermione just seems to get farther away every day.”

Remus laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder in a comforting and paternal gesture, which Harry’s real father seemed incapable of doing at that moment, and spoke calmly, “We will find a way to bring her back, Harry.”

He nodded and Remus dismissed them for lunch, the others following behind as they considered how Snape was the same as they had known him yet so completely different. Twenty years earlier, neither James nor Sirius had any doubts the greasy Slytherin would grow to be a Death Eater, but they would never had suspected him of turning sides and becoming a spy. That required courage, which Snape never seemed to possess, and a great sense of justice, something Snape seemed to lack on purpose. It was unbelievable. Lily, however, radiated happiness that her old friend had finally found the right path, even if it was one of tremendous danger.

Harry spent the rest of the day watching the path up the castle from his window, anxious to see Snape return holding a copy of the book that had damned his best friend. He jumped up at every passing shadow, which annoyed Ron to no end.

“Calm down, Harry,” he said. “Lupin or Dumbledore will tell you when he gets back.”

Harry just kept his sharp eyes trained on the path, grateful that there was no Quidditch practice and he didn’t have to abandon his post. “They might not and I don’t want to miss anything.”

Ron rolled his eyes and went back to his Potions essay, which he had left until the last minute. Without Hermione reminding them to get their work done, Ron was getting farther and farther behind. He had scribbled the last half of his Defence essay at breakfast that morning, and was certain that he would get the lowest grade in Hogwarts history for it. Maybe Hermione wasn’t really cursed, just sick of having to be his mother.

“There!” Harry shouted and pressed his nose against the glass. He could make out Snape’s billowing cloak coming up the path toward the main entrance. Harry couldn’t see anything in his hands, but the man was a wizard and could have shrunk the book or hidden it anywhere inside those oversized robes. “Come on!”

“I can’t, I have to finish,” Ron grumbled and shook Harry off his arm.

“Sorry,” Harry said as he ran from the room and down the stairs. He raced through the common room. James and Sirius saw him and followed, but even James Potter couldn’t match Harry’s speed. He was gone before they were even through the portrait hole.

“Ton-Tongue Toffee,” Harry said and hurried up the stairs.

Snape was sitting in a chair opposite Dumbledore’s desk and sneered as Harry rushed in, but didn’t say anything. “Sorry, Professor, but I couldn’t wait.”

“Quite all right, Harry,” Dumbledore gestured him forward. He was struck by the depressing air of the room, everyone was silent and looked rather mournful. Harry tried to make his trainers as quiet as possible as he walked to stand beside Lupin. “Severus, whenever you’re ready.”

Snape nodded. His black eyes focused on a single distant point, a frown on his face as he concentrated hard to bring his memory into absolute clarity. He brought his wand up to his temple and closed his eyes as a silvery thread was pulled from his brain. The thread, a memory magically removed, drifted on the breeze like a single string of spider silk. Dumbledore brought his Pensieve forward and the memory was deposited.

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Were there any complication?”

“The Dark Lord was concerned about my sudden interest in the book that so inspired him,” Snape said quietly. Harry still hated how reverently he spoke Voldemort’s other name. “Some portion of the truth was necessary to gain access to it.”

“How much of the truth?” Harry asked, terrified that Voldemort knew about Hermione.

“Enough,” Snape said simply.

“We will keep her close, Harry,” Dumbledore assured him. “Even if Tom learns of her condition, he will not gain access to her.”

Harry nodded and jumped as his father and Godfather came crashing into the room. “Did you get it?” James asked.

Snape narrowed his eyes to slits, and was clearly readying his notoriously sharp tongue to respond when Remus gasped. His body was standing over the Pensieve, but his eyes were glazed. He was tense and terrified.

“What the hell?” Sirius said and moved to grab his friend.

“STOP!” Dumbledore commanded, his voice ringing in the silence. “He must not be disturbed.”

“But what’s wrong with him?” Sirius demanded. His greys eyes darted frantically over his old friend, taking in the rigid posture and the white-knuckled grip he kept on the stone basin. Sweat was beginning to shine on his forehead, and the muscles in his jaw were flexing as his teeth clamped together so tightly they might shatter the man’s molars. “Where’s he gone?”

“He’s in Snape’s memory,” Harry said. He had entered memories before, accidentally and intentionally, but he always thought his whole body went in with him. Apparently, his body remained and only his mind descended into the Pensieve. “What’s he seeing?”

“The Dark Lord,” Snape replied quietly.

Harry blanched at the thought of seeing Voldemort as Snape would, reverently and with honeyed lies on his lips, having to kiss his hand and be touched as a son would be by a beloved father. He shivered, not envying Snape one minute of his status with the Dark Wizard. 


	24. Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Voldemort and Harry plot.

“Severus,” the man hissed the name. It almost sounded loving when he said it in that low voice, letting the last S linger against his teeth.

“My Lord,” Severus said and took the hand that was offered, placing a kiss on the ghastly white knuckle as if the man were a king. He was no king; his blood was as impure as anyone common dustman, but he had power, more power than any emperor that ever ruled over the earth. For that power, he demanded respect.

“Why have you come?” He still spoke in that low and frighteningly calm voice. His eyes, red and disturbingly inhuman, locked onto Severus’s and he could feel the probing. He could feel the Dark Lord entering into his mind.

It was the same as always, but it was never something he could get used to. He wasn’t allowed to. When he became complacent, he would make a mistake and he would pay for it with his life. That was if he was lucky. As he journeyed from Hogwarts, he had carefully selected the memories and thoughts he would allow the Dark Lord to see. The book was vital, but he wondered if it would matter which student found it. He would guard Granger’s identity; that much was without question.

Voldemort had other plans. He loved his book. It had been the one thing that guided him as a child before he knew of Hogwarts and magic, when he thought he was uncommonly special amid the dregs of the orphanage. He hadn’t been able to read the words, that knowledge came later, but the images and what they represented, the power they promised, had fueled him. If someone was after his book, he needed to know who it was. He tore the image from Snape’s mind.

“I know this face,” The Dark Lord practically smiled.

“Granger is her name,” Severus said quietly, panting from the effort of holding Voldemort back. “A Muggle-born.”

Voldemort hissed a laugh. “You know I care very little for such things, Severus.” Voldemort sat back and gestured for him to rise. His legs were shaking but his cloak and robes hid his weakness. “The powerful will always have a place beside me. Is she powerful?”

Severus nodded.

“Does she know what she possesses?”

Severus shook his head. “The girl thinks it just a Muggle book, but I recognized it. I wanted to know your thoughts, see it again… in the hopes I was mistaken.”

“I saw your mind, Severus,” The Dark Lord said, again so gently it felt like a kiss to his ears, “You are not mistaken. However, you may look on it.” A wave of the wand brought the book flying to his long white fingers. He placed the ancient book into Snape’s hands and smiled to see them shaking. “It is a thing of magnificence, isn’t it, Severus?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Severus agreed and ran his callused hand along the discolored leather cover. Knowing how delicate the book was despite the spells protecting it, he was careful as he opened it. The first page of smooth velum was intended to be left blank, but it had been given the addition of a poem. “This is a prophecy?”

“Yes,” Voldemort drew out the sound until it filled the gap between them. “Perhaps your Muggle-born will fulfill it.” He smiled.

Severus could only nod and continue to look at the book. He studied each page, catching tantalizing glimpses of understanding as he did. In his time learning Dark Arts and Potions he had become a student of many languages, and while this was not one that he considered himself fluent in, he could manage some words from the harsh black script. Each page he committed to memory; each woodcut burned into his mind for Remus.

For Remus, who stood witnessing the exchange in the Pensieve. He shivered at the sight of Voldemort and of Snape accepting his kindness with a look of near-adoration. It was sickening, but the book was there. The oldest surviving copy of The Deatheater Chronicles. It might hold the secrets they needed.

“This girl,” Voldemort said. “Would she join us?”

Snape placed the book carefully back into his Lord’s outstretched hand as he placed his words with equal caution. “I think it unlikely, My Lord” Severus said. “She is Potter’s.”

“Harry Potter’s?” Voldemort smiled and considered what this could mean. “A Muggle-born witch, friend to Harry Potter, finds my book… There are no coincidences, Severus. It will bring her to me and we will unmake him with its power.”

Remus gasped back into consciousness in Dumbledore’s office. His face damp with sweat, beads trailing down his scars, and his hands gripping the Pensieve painfully. He glared across the room at Snape. “You told him?”

“He pulled it from me, as you saw,” Snape replied coolly.

“He didn’t pull Harry’s name from your mind, Severus,” he snarled. “You handed that information to him willingly. He’s going to come after Hermione because of you.”

“You have the book, which is all you wanted,” Snape said, his voice slick with disdain. “I suggest you get to work. The Dark Lord can be impatient.” He stood and walked past his silent audience, ignoring Remus’s threatening stare.

The door closed and teenagers began shouting, their voices overlapping and getting lost. Their words mattered very little, as they spewed forth indignation and anger and concern. Voldemort knew Hermione had a copy of his beloved book, and he would find a way to make sure she brought it and herself to him. What damage could he do with Hermione’s knowledge?

“Silence, please,” Dumbledore called, his authoritative voice cutting through theirs and bringing their attention back to the present. “Miss Granger is still among us and safe.”

“But for how long?” Harry asked. She was already slipping from them even though she was still at Hogwarts. If Voldemort found a way to contact her, he knew that she would go to him.

“Harry, it doesn’t due to dwell in nightmares when there is still so much light before you,” Dumbledore insisted softly. Harry nodded, but couldn’t quite see the light he was talking about. “Now, gentlemen, it is well past curfew and you ought to be asleep.”

James grumbled wanting to know what Remus saw, but the look on his face told them that no one but the three professors would be privy to that memory.

“Professor!” Harry said urgently and spun around. “The Hogsmeade trip is this weekend, what will happen with Hermione?”

The Headmaster furrowed his brow as he considered the question. “Miss Granger has done nothing that would deny her the privilege, so she must be allowed,” he held his hand up when he saw Harry moving to protest. “She will be guarded, however. Have no further worries on that matter.”

Harry nodded though he didn’t like it one bit. “Fine. Good night, Professor.” Remus nodded and waved them off. Harry and his family went down the stairs and through the corridors. Filch didn’t bother them, though Mrs Norris watched them pass from a shadow.

“Old Dumbles seems to think everything’s alright,” James commented when he saw Harry’s brow had yet to iron itself out. “Why are you so worried?”

“Dumbledore isn’t always completely honest with me,” Harry said. His voice was low and calm, which only served to worry James further. He knew the boy well enough to know that Harry was least dangerous when he was shouting. “He keeps things from me for my own good, but it never turns out very well. That’s why Sirius died.”

Sirius stared at him a moment. He could hear the pain in his voice, not like when he talked about James and Lily dying. That was an old wound to the boy, but when he talked about Sirius it still sounded fresh. “When did that happen?”

“June.”

“Four months ago, June?” Sirius asked. Harry nodded. “No wonder you’re still so bitter. You really loved me.”

“I did.”

Sirius stopped. He had been joking, but clearly Harry wasn’t. Harry really did love him. “Why?”

“You were my Godfather,” Harry shrugged. He was tired and annoyed and really didn’t want to be reliving old memories with someone who wasn’t quite the same man he had lost.

“That makes sense,” James agreed. “Wouldn’t trust Remus, he’d have made you too sensible. And Peter would have made you weird.”

“Where is Peter?” Sirius questioned. He hadn’t really questioned it since that day they finally confronted Harry at Hagrid’s hut.

“With Voldemort,” Harry said and kept walking even when they froze in horrified surprise.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he replied, too tired to cover up the truth.

“I know, but what do you mean?” James grabbed his arm.

“You’re supposed to be smart,” Harry snorted. “Figure it out.” He pulled his arm loose and walked the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower alone. James and Sirius followed behind slowly, arguing with each other over what Harry might have meant. They each guessed, but didn’t dare believe their shadowy thoughts. Peter was their friend, a Marauder; he wouldn’t have turned to the Dark Arts.

Maybe it was like with Hermione turning dark. Peter had been infected or possessed or brainwashed. But as he lay in bed trying to get to sleep, James started to relive the past, thinking over all the times Peter had said or done something slightly disconcerting. The way he would pick fights and then run to the others for protection and watch as they throttled his victims for him. He ran with the stronger kids. What if that spilled over into adulthood, James thought. What if he thought Voldemort was the stronger side? Would he abandon his friends because they weren’t as strong as the Death Eaters?

“Prongs?” Sirius said quietly in the dark, knowing full well James was awake.

“Yeah?”

“That git bailed on us,” Sirius growled.

“I know,” James sighed.

Sleep didn’t come to either of them that night, or to Harry, who was struggling to concoct a plan that might keep Hermione from going to Hogsmeade. She was evil or well on her way to it, so all he had to do was get her to lash out at something… or someone. He smirked to himself though he did feel bad about any pain that might result from Hermione’s anger, but to be honest either of the people he was thinking about had it coming. 


	25. Pained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pansy gets what she deserves, James and Harry are two of a kind and Sirius is despondent until he isn't.

The Hogsmeade trip was just one day away. Harry knew he had to act quickly. No one else seemed to share his concern, but he knew that Voldemort was after Hermione and what that meant. No one else knew how Voldemort thought. The Dark Wizard had been in his head, fueled his anger and rage. He had felt the desire to hurt the people he cared about because Voldemort wanted to hurt them. Hermione was already on the cusp, and all Voldemort had to do was offer and she would be lost. The bustling village would be an ideal place to contact her or even to kidnap her. Dumbledore had assured them that she would be guarded, but if Hermione wanted to go no one would be able to stop her.

He hurried from the tower but did not enter the Great Hall. He sat in the entrance hall under his invisibility cloak, watching as Hermione walked past with Ginny tailing her. It was worrying enough that she had broken up with Sirius, but she had also stopped speaking to all her friends. Ginny tried and failed to initiate countless conversations on everything from Muggle make-up to advanced Transfiguration, but nothing worked.

As he knit his brow in concern, he heard the voice he wanted. Pansy Parkinson’s shrill laughter came into the entrance hall well before she did, giving Harry ample time to stow his cloak and make it look as if he were rushing into the Great Hall. He stumbled into the door frame and a letter fell from his pocket.

Pansy glanced at the letter and saw the name on it:

‘Hermione Granger’

She snatched it from the floor and tore into it, eager for anything that would give her revenge for the scars still marring her body.  As Hermione had wanted, the girl was now as ugly outside as she was in.  Her skin was mottled and no longer smooth from the magical burns Hermione had scalded her with weeks ago. She had been back in classes for almost a week and had noticed a decidedly cold air surrounding the Gryffindor prefect. Something had happened while she was in hospital and she wanted to know what.

A malicious grin pulled at her disfigured lips as she read the letter from Sirius.

‘Hermione,

I’m sorry to have to do this through a letter, but your coldness has left me with no alternative. I thought we could work. You are brilliant and beautiful, but I need more than that. You have no passion, no impulse. I can’t be with someone who only cares about books and rules.

Your indifference has made it clear that you don’t love me, and I’m happy to say that I don’t love you either. I never promised you love or commitment, so please don’t start acting passionate now just to try to win me back. It won’t happen.

Friendship seems the best path for us, I’m sorry.

Sirius.’

“I knew it,” Pansy smirked. She fanned herself with the letter as she strolled into the Great Hall and perched herself on the Gryffindor bench beside Hermione. “Pity.”

“Pardon?” Hermione said, her voice as detached and cold as it had been to everyone lately.

“I said ‘pity’,” Pansy smiled. She threw the letter onto the table in front of Hermione. “Pity you couldn’t muster enough passion to keep someone for more than a month. I’m not surprised, though.”

Hermione took the letter and scanned it, glancing up at Pansy then at Sirius.

“A shame you didn’t try a Slytherin first,” she smirked at Sirius. “We’re a passionate bunch.”

Sirius sneered but stayed silent.

“See, he won’t even defend you!” Pansy shrieked in delight. “That is how much you inspired him. I can only imagine what a date with you must have been like, all ‘what have you been reading?’ and prim kisses. You’re going to die a virgin.”

Hermione glared, the hard, narrow eyed stare that had made the dog whimper, and even Pansy seemed to retract a bit. She recovered quickly when a spark of satisfaction flashed in Hermione’s eyes. “I can’t believe I lowered myself to sitting beside a Mudblood,” she commented. “I feel as if I’ve been tainted.”

Again the anger flared in Hermione’s eyes.

“It’s no wonder he couldn’t bring himself to touch something so filthy,” Pansy sneered.

“The only filth here is you,” Sirius growled. “She’s more that you’ll ever hope to be. Smarter, more passionate and certainly more beautiful.”

Pansy just scoffed. “If that’s true, then why aren’t you with her anymore?”

“I’m bored with this conversation,” Hermione said. “Leave.”

“No,” the scarred Slytherin’s face contorted in a nasty grin.

“Leave,” Hermione repeated, low and threatening. It wasn’t like Hermione to threaten at all. When provoked and publically humiliated, she was far more likely to run away with tears in her eyes or hex her opponent. It was frightening just how calm she was; everyone within earshot was inching away from her, afraid of what she might do.

Pansy, having missed the girl’s startling confrontation with Professor Snape, leaned closer to say more, but didn’t get the chance.

“Frawas!” Hermione said and Pansy was jerked from the bench and thrown across the Great Hall. She landed with a sharp slap against the far wall. The Slytherins were on her in a heartbeat, making sure she was still breathing after so jarring an impact on the solid stones. The teachers split their attention, McGonagall rushed to the Gryffindor table with Flitwick and Snape to his house table with Sinistra in tow.

“What is the meaning of this?” McGonagall demanded.

“I was provoked,” Hermione said without apology.

“That is no excuse for a Prefect of Hogwarts!” she hissed. “Fifty points from Gryffindor, detention for a month and you are not to leave this castle for any reason that is not academic. No Hogsmeade visits, Miss Granger.”

Hermione held the old witch’s eyes as she stood. Harry could see the woman’s hand gripping her wand firmly, readying herself for an attack, but Hermione simply brushed past her and went on her way. The woman’s eye turned to her other students. “What happened?”

“Pansy came to make fun of her,” Ginny insisted. “She wouldn’t go when Hermione told her to. She was provoked, Professor.”

“Very well, but the punishment still stands.” She marched over to help quell the chaos at the Slytherin table.

“That was a bit harsh, Potter,” James muttered.

Harry shrugged. He had no sympathy for Pansy Parkinson, the girl had always been horrible to Hermione and in a way he was happy that Hermione could finally get some revenge for all the mistreatment she had received. It did worry him that she was so willing to harm the girl physically, though; that spell could easily have snapped her neck if she hit the wall wrong. “I don’t want her going to Hogsmeade.”

“What are you, her father?”

“More like a pain in the arse younger brother,” he smiled grimly. “And if that’s what it takes to keep her from getting kidnapped by Death Eaters, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Why did you have to drag me into it?” Sirius growled. “That letter was so far from accurate.”

“I wasn’t aiming for accuracy,” Harry said as if it should be obvious. “I was aiming to give Pansy a reason to insult Hermione.”

“You are definitely my kid,” James grinned despite the frightening scene they had just watch play out. “We’re short a Marauder, you know. You want to join up?”

“I thought I was in by default,” Harry said fighting the smirk.

“I cannot believe you two,” Lily muttered, which only made them laugh as they pushed off from the table and found their way to class.

Their initial joviality was short lived when they came upon Hermione in the classroom. She was reading the letter Harry had written pretending to be Sirius. The penmanship was a perfect forgery of his Godfather’s, the signature exact down to the last stroke of the quill. There was no way she would know who really wrote it.

She glanced up when they came to sit by her in their normal seats, her eyes locked onto Sirius who was trying very hard to keep his façade in place. It wasn’t easy, especially after he had defended her publically. The letter was offensive. He would never break up with anyone in a letter; he had far too much pride and courage to do something so cowardly. The words were worse. He knew just how passionate Hermione really was, about everything, even books but especially about him.

Her gaze was seeking the cracks in the mask and finding them easily. His eyes betrayed him, his mouth twitched and even his posture looked too rehearsed. She could see through it all, but if she recognized the truth, she didn’t respond, which only created more fissures for her to peer through.

Whatever she saw made her deep eyes narrow and she stiffened when he sat in his usual seat beside her.

Her reaction did nothing for Sirius’s false front. The comely Gryffindor could barely focus during Transfiguration, McGonagall’s words floated over his head and he practiced the spells she described mechanically, not really knowing what he was doing or saying. Luckily, McGonagall was too concerned with Hermione to be bothered noticing that he wasn’t paying her any real attention or that Neville had managed to accidentally transfigure his own shirt into an alarming shade of pink.

The effort of holding onto his mask was too much and Sirius had to skip lunch. He was too exhausted to keep up appearances after so long a morning. He fell onto his bed and tried hard to fall asleep. Sleep was the closest he could come to nonexistence, which was something he had been striving for over the past few days. He wasn’t suicidal; he just didn’t want to feel anything for a while.

No one seemed to care much what Sirius wanted, or perhaps his mask was so good that even cracked it could fool nearly everyone. The sixth years Gryffindors kept pestering him about everything. Seamus continued asking about what it was like as a relative of Harry’s; Neville asked him for help on homework; Ron consoled him over losing Hermione, though it was clearly an act as the git hated the idea of them being together. James and Harry were the only ones with enough sense to leave him alone, for which he loved them both dearly.

After dinner, which Sirius skipped, Harry threw a napkin filled with chicken and rolls at him. “Eat something.”

“Thanks,” he muttered and sniffed the roll with a suspicious glance at his Godson and friend.

“We didn’t spike your food, you prat,” James sent him a rude gesture.

He nodded and started eating.

“Sirius,” Seamus said eagerly. “Wh—“

“Hey, Seamus,” Harry interrupted, his face arranged into perfect innocence, which made his father extremely proud. “Is it true you’ve never lost a Wizard Chess match?”

“Yeah,” the boy grinned smugly.

“Rubbish!” Ron said. “I beat you first year!”

“You cheated first year, so it doesn’t count.”

“Bollocks!” Ron threw a pillow at him. “I don’t have to cheat.”

“I think I smell a rematch,” James said in a conspiratorial stage whisper to Harry.

Ron pointed at him and nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Rematch! I’ll prove I don’t have to cheat.”

“I would want witnesses, if it were me,” Harry commented to his father.

Seamus agreed. “Witnesses, right. The whole common room-full.” He grabbed his chess set from beneath his bed and marched out the door without bothering to ask if Ron was coming. Ron had his own chess set under his arm and was hurrying after him.

“Thanks,” Sirius said again.

“I’ll keep Neville from coming back,” Harry said and left the room.

James teetered in the doorway for a moment, not sure if Sirius wanted his oldest friend as company or just to be left completely alone. Sirius wasn’t looking at him. His grey eyes were unfocused in the general direction of Harry’s night table, where a picture of Harry, Ron and Hermione sat. James could see the girl smiling in an open and friendly way, something he hadn’t seem for three weeks. He cleared his throat to speak.

“Oh, piss off, Prongs,” Sirius said, not angrily, but with enough force to let his friend know that he wasn’t joking. James shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered down to the common room to see who was better at chess.

Sirius, while grateful to his friends, was ashamed that they were able to see through to his pain. He pushed himself off the bed and went to clean up, hoping a bath would clear his head if nothing else.

It didn’t work. The bath set his mind to playing tricks on him. As he walked into his bedroom, he swore the room smelled of ink and vanilla. His eyes joined in, telling him that Hermione was on his bed. His ears took over, and he thought he heard her voice.

“Sirius,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, but you have to listen, please.” He pushed the door closed and walked around her.

“You’re not real,” Sirius informed his hallucination and proceeded to pull his sleeping bottoms on under his dressing gown.

“I’m real,” she insisted and wrapped her arms around him. She certainly felt real.

“If you were real, you would be glaring at me, not hugging me,” he replied bitterly.

“That’s not me, I swear.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, and tomorrow, you’ll be right as rain, I bet.”

“I will if you help me,” her voice took on a strange tone, low and practically seductive. Her hands released him and moved to her own body, pulling off her jumper and unbuttoning her shirt.

“Now I know you aren’t really here,” he said, though his voice was barely a whisper his mouth was so dry.

She smiled and shimmed out of her skirt. Her knickers and bra didn’t match; he always assumed she was the compulsively organized type that made certain everything was paired, but his imagination thought otherwise, apparently. Her hands felt right, soft and cool and slightly nervous, as she pulled the dressing gown off his chest.

“Stop it!” he shouted and stepped back. It was meant to be a decisive break from her, but he was closer to the bed than he realized. It knocked his knees from under him and he landed on his mattress with a bewildered look on his face. Surely, his brain would have him as the ultimate in grace and charm, not a bumbling idiot.

“I need your help,” she said again and pushed her practically naked body against him. “It has to be you.”

“Why?”

“I saw,” she smiled and kissed his face. “In class, I saw in your eyes. You love me.” She brought her lips to his and kissed him as he had so eagerly kissed her weeks ago in the common room after their date. He hadn’t forgotten how wonderful it felt or how lightheaded it made him feel, but it worried him that there was a different taste. She carried an acidic tang that she hadn’t previously. He didn’t like it, but it felt too good to stop.

While he was distracted, her hands moved down his chest, moving slowly but purposefully to his waist and below. He was on his back now and her hands could go where they liked, and they did. Plunging below his waistband and into his trousers to find him already warming to her attentions.

“Hermione!” Sirius pushed her away. “Stop this.”

“No,” she said. “I need—“

“My help, I heard you,” he said.

“Then why are you stopping me?” she asked desperately. There were tears coming into her eyes. He hadn’t seen her cry in weeks, not since he came to her bed as a dog.

“This isn’t like you,” he insisted. “If this isn’t a dream, then it’s the book doing this to you.” He remembered all those raunchy books he had borrowed from Peter, where the good little girl gets touched by a curse and turns into a sex kitten. He had scoured the library for weeks trying to find a curse that would really do that, but he could never find it. Now, he had, and he didn’t like it. It was wrong; Hermione was wrong.

The tears that threatened now fell from her eyes and she buried her head in her knees. She gasped and cried in strangled sobs.

“Hermione,” he reached for her and touched her soft hair.

“Don’t you lay a hand on me,” she said and glared at him. It would have hurt less if she shouted the words at him, but her voice was back to the cold, metered tone she had been using for weeks. He was shocked and worried, too much so to move. Her nails dug into him, gripping his wrist and pulling it from her hair.

She didn’t say another word to him as she stood and dressed. She didn’t spare him a single glance as she left him sitting dumbfounded on his bed. She didn’t realize that she had left proof that it had been real. Sirius gripped his bleeding wrist and smiled.


	26. Stark Reminders

The half-moons and gouges on his wrist were painful and crusted with dried blood, but Sirius looked at them as if they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He stared at the injury reverently as he sat at breakfast, glancing down the table at Hermione, who glared at him once then didn’t acknowledge him again for the rest of the meal. He didn’t care, he had his bloody scratches.

“You should get that cleaned, mate,” James said. “Looks infected.”

“Good, then it will scar,” Sirius said absently.

James stared at him, convinced he’d fallen off the deep end. “Do I want to know?”

Sirius wanted to tell him that Hermione had come to their room and tried to seduce him, that she had kissed him and caressed him, that she had cried when he turned her away and tore into his skin to remove his comforting hand, but he wasn’t sure what it really meant. Yes, she had come to him, but who had been in control? He didn’t know if the book had made her come to him or if she had come of her own free will. She had said she would be back to normal if he helped her, but he didn’t know what she had wanted besides physical contact.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve sorted it out,” Sirius replied quietly. The Great Hall was loud with the excitement of the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, so loud James barely heard Sirius’s reply. He was just happy that his friend had something other than indifference on his face. Hope and veneration were much better than detachment, in James’s opinion, even if they were directed at potentially-infected wounds.

“Are you going to Hogsmeade?” James asked Harry, who was eyeing his possessed friend.

“Yeah, I need to get out for a bit,” he nodded. Even with Quidditch practices, he was starting to go a little crazy from stress. Hermione was worrisome enough, but it occurred to him earlier in the week that Dumbledore hadn’t met with him for another lesson in ages. He was starting to think the old wizard had forgotten in the wake of Hermione’s possession.

“Harry,” Ginny came up and dangled a scroll in front of his glazed eyes. “I’m supposed to give you this.”

The boy grabbed it, recognizing the elaborate writing on the outside, and tore into the scroll. “It’s from Dumbledore. Finally another lesson… on Monday.” It was a small consolation for all the stress. “Thanks, Ginny. Uh…you want to join us in Hogsmeade?”

“I’m going with Dean,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

Harry didn’t care for Dean much lately. He narrowed his eyes at the boy as Ginny sat down beside him. “Git,” Harry muttered to no one in particular. James just smiled and wondered if his son was tricky enough to sabotage the relationship. He had ended three of Evans’s relationships over the past two years, though the girl had yet to come around to seeing him as the dashing hero he was for saving her. Perhaps the ‘90s would be the decade of romance for the pair. If only she was going to Hogsmeade, he would have started making his move that very day.

The weather was not at all pleasant. Quite a few students turned around before they even reached the gate. The wind whipped at their faces, making them numb and raw. Harry was determined not to give in. He needed an escape, if only for the day. He was depressed to see Zonko’s Joke Shop closed and boarded, and wondered whether it had been the Death Eaters or Weasley Wizarding Wheezes to force the shop under. It didn’t bode well for the visit, regardless of the cause. Honeyduke’s proved a welcome break from the weather. It was warm, but crowded.

A jolly voice called to him and he saw Slughorn. He was amazed the rotund wizard could find room enough in the crush, let alone notice Harry specifically, “Harry, my boy, delightful to see you. Had fun at the last dinner?”

Harry mumbled and nodded. He had been sending James to the dinners in his stead, eager to escape the scrutiny that inevitably came with being The Boy Who Lived. James, for his part, loved it and had a grand time being the center of attention and making up wild stories about being Harry ‘I’m So Awesome’ Potter. Hermione was the only one in attendance who might have called him on being a fake, but she had yet to say a word.

“Will you be joining us Monday?”

“I’ll try,” Harry mumbled. “Might have practice.”

“I expect to see the Quidditch Cup in Minerva’s office for another year after all your practicing,” Slughorn laughed boisterously. He opened his mouth to continue, but McLaggen hurried up and started offering the man some sweets while shooting Harry a nasty smirk.

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry grumbled and went out into the biting wind. Snow flurries clung to his glasses, making it hard to see, but after so many years of Hogsmeade visits he knew the path by heart. There wasn’t much to the village, so it was just a matter of avoiding falling into a deep snow drift or walking into anyone. Outside the Three Broomsticks he saw two men braving the foul weather. It looked a bit dodgy the way they huddled together and glanced around frequently. He knew them both – the barman from the Hog’s Head and Mundungus Fletcher. As soon as he noticed them approaching, the barman hurried away leaving Mundungus to hide his wares.

“Mundungus!” Harry shouted, making the man drop his suitcase, scattering the contents on the ground.

“Oh, ‘ello, ‘Arry,” the man said, trying to sound light and unperturbed. It didn’t’ work. He scrambled to reclaim his precious collection, but he wasn’t fast enough. Harry could see the expensive, though tarnished, items.

“Hang on,” Ron said. “This looks familiar…” He picked up a silver goblet off the ground and polished it on his coat. “Isn’t that the Black family crest?” He held the goblet out for Sirius to see.

“So it is…” Sirius muttered.

“Thank you,” Mungundus swiped it from his hand and threw it in the suitcase. He squeaked when the wand touched his forehead and he looked to see Harry’s green eyes fixed murderously on him.

“You took that from Sirius’s house!” Harry accused. “From _my_ house. Did you go back the night he died and strip the place?”

“What? I—No – “

“Give it to me!”

“Harry, I don’t care,” Sirius said. “It’s just a bunch of old pomp.”

“I care!” Harry spat. “It’s all I have left of you, even if it is stuff you hated and a house you couldn’t wait to get away from.”

Sirius wanted to smile. There is was again, the love of his Godson and the anger over his death. He had never thought of himself as particularly lovable; he swore too much, was rude to anyone that mattered, pranked everyone else and broke more hearts that was legal. He intentionally shut himself off from everyone but the Marauders, yet Harry loved him. The boy couldn’t imagine what he had done to deserve it.

“S-Sirius?” Mundungus stared, open-mouthed and terrified.

“The one and only,” he smiled. “Give Harry back his stuff. Now.”

Mundungus dropped the suitcase and everything he had gathered from his shaking hands. “Meant no harm,” he hiccupped in a ridiculously small and squeaking voice. “Y-you wouldn’t have wanted it… hated the Blacks…”

Sirius was back in his usual form, smirking and elegant; he drew his wand lazily and pointed it at the stinking wizard that Harry still held at wand-point. “I may have hated them, but that doesn’t give you the right to pilfer Harry’s inheritance.”

The man squeaked again and Disapparated with a ‘crack’, leaving the stolen goods littering the ground where he had been standing. “I cannot believe they let him in the Order,” Harry muttered and began shoving everything back into the suitcase.

“I’m sorry, but are you a wizard or a house wife?” Sirius laughed. He flicked his wand and the scattered goods flew into the case, which closed itself securely and stood on end.

“Right,” Harry muttered stupidly. “I could’ve done that…”

Sirius smiled and threw the weighty case at him. “Your stuff, sir. I certainly don’t want it.”

“Thanks.” He dragged the case into the Three Broomsticks and fell onto the nearest empty chair. He was still angry but grateful for Sirius’s presence. It wasn’t about the silver; he had more Galleons in his bank vault than he could use in a lifetime. It was the principle of the thing. He had so little to connect himself to Sirius and that filthy old thieving drunk was stealing it and selling it on street corners.

“Wow, Rosmerta looks good,” James commented. “I wouldn’t think she’d still be so… wow.”

“Oi!” Ron said, though he had no right to be jealous. He was as bad as James, and turned his flushed face around to watch the curvy barmaid work.

“Oi, Potter,” Sirius muttered. “You know them?” His head jerked to the side and Harry glanced through his fringe at the warlocks sitting nearby. They were all staring intently at Harry. They all looked rather suspicious in Harry’s opinion and he wondered if they were there waiting for Hermione or if they were just the usual dark wizards keeping tabs on him. Either way, he didn’t like it.

Harry shook his head. “Butterbeer,” he suggested as a way to get near and hear what they were muttering .

Sirius stood and walked the long way around, making sure they lost sight of him at the crowded bar. Their eyes stayed on Harry and didn’t see Sirius as he walked very close to their table and paused to pull the hair from his eyes. It all looked so natural that no one thought it odd, least of all the dark warlocks. He strolled back and deposited the bottles onto the table. “They seem highly interested in the lack of your pretty female friend,” Sirius informed Harry. “Very disappointed, by the sound of it.”

“I think we should head back,” Harry said. If they were after Hermione, they might try cursing one of her friends to get to her. They didn’t know she didn’t care about any of them anymore. He drank his butterbeer quickly, and grabbed the suitcase again.

He stood and wrapped his scarf back around his neck and face, eager to hide himself from the wind and the stares of the men watching. He left with the others in tow. None of them had particularly enjoyed the trip, and they all wanted to get back to the warm safety of Hogwarts. The wind pulled at their clothes, chilled them worse than even their worries had, and brought with it the arguing voices of Katie Bell and her friend. Harry had seen them at the Three Broomsticks but hadn’t been inclined to say ‘hello’.

“Your Chaser doesn’t sound too happy,” James called over the wind. They rounded a corner in the lane and saw the two girls arguing over a package. Katie’s friend tried to make a grab for it, but it tore open and fell to the ground. They watched in astonishment as Katie rose into the air, looking as if she were about to fly, but her blank expression frightened them. And then she screamed. The terrible, pained scream cut through the air and terrified everyone who watched. Her friend grabbed her ankles and tried to pull her back to earth.

“Stay here!” Harry shouted and sprinted for the school, hoping to find someone who could help. He’d never seen anyone behave as Katie had. It had to be Dark magic. The sleet obscured his vision; he couldn’t see where he was going and collided with a leg, falling backward and staring up at the welcome figure.

“Hagrid!” Harry panted. “Come quick! It’s a curse or something! Come on!”

Harry grabbed hold of Hagrid’s arm and tried pulling him back toward Katie. It was pointless as the man was stronger and heavier than Harry ever hoped to be, but his urgency had enough impact to get the man moving. “Who’s been cursed?”

“Katie Bell, this way!”

Harry let go and ran back, Hagrid following at his quickest pace. They returned to find Katie silent but unresponsive and her friend, Leanne, shaking in fright, with Sirius’s comforting arms around her. It was a sign of her shock that she wasn’t in the least bit affected by his charm and good looks but still crying and staring at her unconscious friend.

Through her gasping sobs and shrill wails, Harry could make out that Katie had been given a package by someone when she went to the loo. Leanne didn’t know who had given it to her or what was in it, but she had tried talking Katie out of carrying it. They had fought and when it tore open, the Chaser had touched the thing inside with horrifying results. Harry saw the object, a necklace he had observed in the case at Borgin and Burkes; it was supposed to be cursed.

“I can’t believe I forgot about that…” he muttered and pulled the scarf from his neck despite the wind and sleet. He grabbed the necklace with it to protect himself and examined it.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Malfoy. He was looking at this necklace, remember? Hermione went in to ask about it,” Harry said. “It’s probably the thing he bought and had to come back for later. He hexed Katie to make her smuggle it into school.”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Ron said slowly. “Loads of people go into that shop, and Leanne said she didn’t know who gave Katie the package. Who’s to say it wasn’t meant for Hermione?”

“Ron, we were after Malfoy before all this started with Hermione,” Harry said through clenched teeth. He wasn’t angry at Ron for doubting him. He was angry with himself for forgetting. It had been weeks since he so much as glanced at the ferret-faced Slytherin; he could be up to anything while Harry’s back was turned. “We—“

“McGonagall,” Ron warned.

The stern witched hurried down the stone steps and met them. “Hagrid said you witnessed what happened to Katie Bell. To my office, now, if you please. Potter, what is that?”

“The thing she touched, Professor,” Harry said and held up the offending item.

“Good lord,” she exclaimed and took the scarf-wrapped necklace from him. A frightening sound made them all jump. “Mr Filch!”

“Sorry, Professor,” the caretaker said. “But I have to be on alert.” He waved the Secrecy Sensor over James and Ron without effect. As he scanned Sirius and the suitcase, the Sensor screeched again. “Smuggling in Dark Artifacts are we, Mr Porter?”

“They are with me, Mr Filch,” she snapped. “Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once. It is dangerous. Do not touch it, and keep it wrapped in the scarf.”

Filch scurried away while they followed her up the slippery steps and into the castle. The witch was in no humor and the boys made no attempt at it as they entered her office. Leanne, barely calm enough to speak, explained to the professor what had happened at the Three Broomsticks and she was excused to Madam Pomfrey, leaving the four boys and the suitcase. McGonagall eyed the suitcase, remembering the Sensor’s reaction, but decided to save it for later. The most important thing was Katie; the more information she could gather, the better off Katie would be.

She prized them for information, but found only Harry was willing to speak and accuse. She inhaled a sharp and irritated breath when the boy stubbornly continued to insist it was Draco Malfoy who was responsible for Katie Bell’s condition.

“Mr Potter,” she said crisply. “If you have no proof, I must ask you to leave so that I may go inquire after Miss Bell in the hospital wing.”

Harry was angry. Where was Dumbledore when all this was happening? He would have at least entertained the possibility that Malfoy was behind it. Instead, he got stuck with McGonagall, who just dismissed everything anyone had to say. He could only shake his head briefly, knowing that if he opened his mouth he would land in detention until June and would be unable to investigate.

“Very well then, you may go” the old woman said. “Leave the suitcase, Mr Black.”

“It’s just stuff that Mundungus blighter nicked from my house,” Sirius said.

“All the same, leave it.”

Sirius shrugged and dropped the case, reveling in the satisfying crunch and clatter the mixed contents made when it connected heavily with the stone floor. Harry glared at him. That was his stuff, too.

 

 


	27. Oddly Routine

Harry didn’t care what Ron or McGonagall said; he knew it was Malfoy. He was still worried about Hermione, but she was stuck in the castle and had Ron, Ginny, Lily, James, Sirius and half the staff watching her. He was free to turn his eye to Draco Malfoy, who looked positively sick, even paler and thinner than he had at the start of term. Something was worrying him, clearly, and Harry would wage his Firebolt that it was something to do with Voldemort and the cursed necklace.

The incident with Katie Bell was the talk of Hogwarts, if only because it had a major impact on the coming Quidditch match against Slytherin. Even in the face of Dark Wizards and war, three-quarters of the students’ immediate concerns were only about seeing Slytherin thrashed on the Quidditch pitch. James shared the sentiment and started on Harry about joining practice before the weekend had ended.

“I’m the stand-in, remember?” he reminded Harry the morning after the Hogsmeade trip.

Harry stared at him in disbelief, “She’s only just gone to hospital! I’m not replacing her until I know she won’t be back in time for the game. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just thinking of the team,” James mumbled, a bit put out that his son was looking at him so self-righteously. “I was Captain, too, you know. You have to think about the big picture.”

“The big picture?” Harry scoffed. “The big picture is Voldemort trying to kill me, not one Quidditch match!”

“Well when you say it that way…” he said and looked away. His son had been at the fight against evil a lot longer than he had, and it was slightly disturbing to think about how much of a better person Harry was. If one of his Chasers had been cursed, he would have been scouring the common room for a decent replacement within the hour just to be on the safe side. Perhaps it was an overly competitive nature or maybe he just wasn’t as hopeful a person as Harry; the boy had to be an optimist to think the girl would recover from her condition before the game.

The conversation shamed James into silence. He didn’t ask Harry again, though plenty of others did. Seamus was in no way shy about asking Harry if he needed a stand-in. Patronizing tones had no effect on the Irish sixth year, who was desperate to get onto the team. James remembered him from tryouts and he had certainly not been the best one there.

“Oi! Harry,” Seamus called after Potions. “Had time to think about a stand-in, yet?”

“No,” Harry said, clearly annoyed at having Seamus pestering him yet again.

“Come on,” Seamus practically whined. “The game’s coming up fast. I’m good, Harry!”

“I already have a stand-in, Seamus,” Harry bit out, annoyed that he had to put his friend down in public, but his continued attempts at convincing Harry had left him short on both patience and sympathy. “But I’m not going to use him until I know for sure Katie’s not coming back.”

“What? Who?” Seamus glared over at Dean, knowing it would be him. He was Harry’s best friend’s sister’s boyfriend. As convoluted as the connection was, he was sure it was enough to put him ahead of Seamus for the Chaser position.

“James,” Harry stabbed his thumb in the direction of his teenage father, who was trying to steal Sirius’s notes.

“Bollocks! He didn’t even try out!”

“He’s Captain of his team where he comes from, and a Chaser,” Harry was fighting to sound calm as he explained his reasoning. “He didn’t have to try out.”

Seamus turned a deep and angry red, his nostrils flared and Harry could practically see the steam coming off him. He turned and stomped his way to the Great Hall. Harry was sure the jilted would-be Chaser would be announcing to the whole Gryffindor table how biased, unfair and unsuited Harry was as Captain. He wondered if there was a vote of no confidence on Quidditch teams.

“James!” Harry shouted. “You’re on the team, practice is tonight. Don’t embarrass me.”

“It’s about bloody time,” James cheered, a grin taking over his face. “Do you have any playbooks? I have ours memorized, so if you need…” He kept talking, gesturing wildly, his hands imitating the roles of the various players as they flew in each particular play he had a hand in creating. Harry wasn’t listening. His thoughts were on Malfoy, who had grown more distant in the weeks after Katie was hospitalized, barely speaking to anyone, even his own friends. He kept his eye on the Slytherin as he took his seat.

“Is it me or has the Gryffindor table gotten a little chillier since breakfast?” Sirius asked. He noticed the glares several students were sending James and Harry’s way. The whispers started immediately after they sat together.

“What’s their problem?” James narrowed his eyes at a fourth year who was glaring at him.

“Me,” Harry said without bothering to look at the angry Gryffindors.

“You’re popularity certainly does come and go,” Sirius commented. Harry just shrugged and dug into his sandwich while he observed Draco and ignored the other students. He was used to the on-again, off-again popularity, and knew that they would come around when Gryffindor throttled Slytherin.

The late owls arrived just after everyone had started eating. A great Eagle Owl swooped in and landed before Malfoy, who seemed to shiver and pale further at its arrival. Whatever news it brought couldn’t be good, Harry assumed. The boy’s hands shook as he collected the envelope from the owl’s beak and he glanced around at his Slytherin tablemates before opening it. His eyes darted over the letter and he pulled a ring from the envelope, studying it and reading the letter again. He slipped the ring onto his pinky and put the letter into his pocket.

As Harry watched, the boy’s grey eyes glanced over the length of the Gryffindor table. He hoped it was his imagination that they settled momentarily onto Hermione before moving on and looking down at the ring again. What would Malfoy want with Hermione? He wondered if he could manage to steal the letter from Malfoy’s pocket. The boy had grown more paranoid than Snape; Harry didn’t think he would be able to get within three feet of him without some Sneak-o-scope or Secrecy Sensor going off.

He had to make sure Hermione was guarded even better than she already was. It was made exceedingly more difficult with four of them leaving for Quidditch practice every evening, but Sirius seemed more eager than ever to stay with Hermione. Harry was afraid to ask because all James could get out of him was something about ‘bloody scratches’ or some such nonsense. Perhaps being solidified had made him a bit mental. Whatever the reason, Sirius happily sat beside Hermione in class, the library and the Great Hall, with Lily following where he could not.

In the week that followed, neither had anything unusual to report. Hermione ignored them and everyone else. No one approached her and she received no letters or notes from anyone. Her parents wrote to her, but she never bothered reading what they sent and she threw away the boxes of sugar-free treats as soon as she left the Great Hall.

As weird as it was, life took on a steady routine.

Even the Quidditch match didn’t worry Harry. James was a brilliant Chaser and his plays were even better than Oliver Wood’s had been. The Quaffle stayed well clear of the Gryffindor side of the pitch, so even Ron’s inconsistencies as Keeper had no bearing on the scrimmage games.

“I had a thought,” James whispered to Harry after one evening of practice. “It’s not against the rules, I checked, but some might call it cheating. I’m going to need—“

Harry held his hand up. “The less I know, the better. Do whatever you want, just keep me out of it.”

“Great!” James hugged him. “My son the Marauder. Don't worry it won't be anything like that time Peter hexed half the Hufflepuffs with enormous hard-ons. Oh, fair warning, though, I’m going to be forging your signature to Gringotts.”

“I did not need to know that. And don’t tell me anything!”  Harry hissed and shoved him off.

James ran off with an evil glint in his eye that made Harry slightly nervous. It reminded him very much of Fred and George and he suddenly worried if perhaps he should have tried to talk his father out of his great plan to win the Quidditch match. He wanted to win the game fairly so everyone would stop questioning his judgment as Captain, but if he won by dubious means that would only bring more questions of his abilities. He growled in frustration and threw his robes onto the bench.

“Harry,” Ron shuffled up and fell onto the bench, too despondent to care that he was sitting on the Captain’s robes. “Is it too late to get a stand-in Keeper?”

“What? Yes, it is,” Harry stared at him. He hadn’t missed a single Quaffle the whole practice, how could he be feeling incompetent? “You were great today, what’s the problem?”

“I didn’t do great –  _James_  did great keeping the Quaffle away from me. What if the Slytherins don’t play the same? I’ll be rubbish. I am rubbish. Get a replacement.”

“No, Ron. It’s too late. You were the best Keeper and you’re staying on. You just need to relax.”

“I can’t. I’m too worried about Hermione,” Ron admitted. He hadn’t said her name in weeks, and had barely looked at her in days. Harry had to admit he hadn’t been paying her much attention lately, either. It wasn’t that he wasn’t worried… he just had other things on his mind.

“Me, too,” Harry said. “But you’re still Keeper.” He slapped Ron’s shoulder and jumped up from the bench, leaving the redhead there to gape and grumble that his sympathy play hadn’t worked. 


	28. Old Dog, New Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James is a boss at Quidditch, while everyone else pretty much sucks at life and responsibility.

The day of the Quidditch match arrived and Harry still had no idea what his father’s great and only slightly questionable plan for the winning was. He knew James had taken advantage of the secret passage to the Shrieking Shack one sunny weekend, and had returned with package approximately the same size and shape as a broom under his arm. He also knew that he kept the rest of the team a bit longer after Harry dismissed them to discuss his great plan, but no one was willing to tell him anything. If Harry was less secure in his position as Captain, he would fear a coup.

As it was, the rest of the team was beaming that morning, the same evil glint in their eyes that he had seen the evening James suggested implementing the slightly illegal plan. Again, it worried Harry, but it was too late to change their minds now. They were clearly smitten with the idea, whatever it was.

Only Ron was looking put out and green with performance anxiety. It was Harry who had a plan for dealing with this however. He had tried talking Ron up, threatening him, bullying him, teasing him, but nothing had changed his mood over the week and it was finally down to his only other option… to trick him. He needed someone clever and good at lying.

“James,” Harry whispered. “Need your help. Tell Ron not to drink the pumpkin juice I’m about to offer him, that you saw me pour something into it. He’ll figure it out.” His father nodded as if this were a perfectly reasonable request, which it was if one were a Marauder.

“Ron, cheer up, mate,” Harry said and pretended to pour something into the glass. “Drink this.”

“Oi! Ginger, don’t drink that! He spiked it,” James insisted. “What’d you put in there?”

“What?” Harry looked overly innocent and made a show of slipping his hand into his pocket. “I didn’t do anything.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at the pair before realization dawned and he stole the glass from Harry’s hand and downed the drink in one gulp, nearly drowning himself in his eagerness to take whatever potion Harry had slipped him.

“Good, man,” Harry grinned. “You won’t believe our _luck_ today. Malfoy’s off the roster and the weather is gorgeous. Come on, let’s go get warmed up.”

Sirius took his eyes off Hermione just long enough to watch them leave. He glanced at a proud James. “Just imagine what he would have been like if you had raised him,” Sirius smiled.

“He’d have been brilliant,” James agreed and hopped off the bench to follow them.

Sirius hesitated. Normally, in his first life, he’d head down to the pitch whenever James went to get a good seat and possibly set up a prank on the opposing side’s stands, but he had a greater goal to attend to that day. She might not like it, but he was Hermione’s guard in the crowd. “Hermione,” Sirius dared address her directly. “Coming to the game?”

“You make it seem like I have a choice,” the girl replied coldly. She stood and walked to the stadium, Lily and Sirius following her closely, but the she blended easily into a group of Hufflepuffs and they lost sight of her in the crowd.

“Don’t worry,” Lily assured him. “Dumbledore and Remus are looking out for her, too. “ Sirius nodded his agreement but anxiety still gnawed at his gut, making him fear the raucous Quidditch fans and every devilish escape they might conceal. He knew better than most how easy it was to vanish in a crowd this large and loud. Hermione would have no difficulty, even with the Headmaster keeping an eye on her.

They took their seats in the Gryffindor stands and immediately set about trying to find Hermione. She wasn’t in their cluster of seats and without a pair of omnioculars or even Muggle binoculars they couldn’t see the other stands clearly. Sirius did not like it, but the teams were taking to the field and he couldn’t leave his seat without raising suspicions.

“Good day, and welcome to the exciting first game of the season!” the announcer called. “It’s the grudge match: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Who will win?”

The captains of each team participated in the long-standing tradition of hand-crushing. Harry held his face perfectly emotionless as the Slytherin Captain, Urquhart, gripped his hand so hard that his own knuckles turned white and Harry’s fingertips turned purple with retained blood. For Harry’s efforts, Urquhart twitched an eye. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Harry smirk until they let go and he could turn to face his team and let his stoic face fall into one of understandable pain.  James and Ginny snorted as they mounted their brooms.

“And their off!”

James’s old playbook was a thing of grandeur and deserved to be bronzed.

The play labeled ‘Fire in the Hole’ brought ten points to Gryffindor inside the first three minutes. ‘Four Musketeers’ earned them twenty more points before the crowd had finished cheering for their first goal; the Quaffle never made it out of the Slytherin side of the pitch during the first quarter.

Urquhart managed to grab the ball from GInny, but a well-aimed bludger saw it back in Gryffindor’s possession and ‘Tarantella Tickle’ won them another ten points. This was quickly followed by ‘Chaos in a C-Cup’, ‘Running with Scissors’, ‘Hampshire Tea Cozy’ and ‘Buzzcocks Rocks’. Harry had attempted to gather the deeper meaning of the play titles, but soon realized there were no deeper meanings; James just made up names to confuse anyone that might try eavesdropping. It seemed to work, because even the modern Slytherins hadn’t seen the plays coming. They were nearly two hundred points up by the end of the first half.

And then there was James’s brilliant and only slightly questionable ploy.

It had the Slytherins in confusions as soon as they took to the air. James had bought an identical Firebolt to Harry’s and was riding it as much through the plays as he was above them pretending to be Harry seeking the Snitch. Through careful uniform sabotage, he had made Harry’s Captain pin barely visible to the other players. The bludgers flew erratically as the Slytherin Beaters weren’t sure which black-haired, bespectacled Gryffindor they were meant to knock out, and Harper, Slytherin’s replacement Seeker, didn’t know who to follow.

Harry figured it out quickly with a massive grin splitting his face. He took his broom in every direction, high above the game, well below it and into the fray. He even managed to grab the Quaffle and make a goal of his own.

“Great shot, James!” Ginny yelled and slapped him on the back. Harry grinned and took his broom up before he had to try his hand at being Chaser for another play.

As he watched Ginny score another ten points, he saw it, the Golden Snitch. It was small and glittering and flying he opposite end of the pitch from where he and Harper were. He dove, racing through the play, dodging a bludger and the bat from a Slytherin Beater. Harper followed, recognizing Harry for who he was now. He was a better Seeker than Malfoy, which didn’t surprise Harry much, but he was surprised that Harper managed to catch up. The Slytherin was taller than Harry and had longer arms. He would catch the Snitch first if Harry didn’t think of something.

“Harper! How much did Malfoy pay you to take his place?” Harry shouted. To his surprise Harper dropped speed in shock and Harry managed to wrap his fingers around the struggling golden ball.

The victory wasn’t as complete as everyone seemed to think or as Harry would have liked.

He was filled with questions that hadn’t been there before. Malfoy had paid Harper to take his place. Why would he do that? What was so important that he couldn’t take a morning off to play Quidditch? Was it an order from Voldemort? Did it have anything to do with Hermione? Or was it something else, whatever his mission had been from the start of term?

Harry landed on the pitch below, arm raised in victory for only a moment before he hurried to the changing rooms. McGonagall was waiting.

“Mr Potter, Mr Porter, a word,” she said crisply and took them off to a side.

“Is there a problem, Professor?” James asked politely, an innocent smile touching his lips. Even Harry believed he’d done nothing wrong, and he knew better than most how villainous his young father really was.

“Not exactly, Mr Porter,” the witch replied. “There is nothing in the rules against players interchanging roles or even giving the appearance of doing so...”

Harry heard the ‘but’ even though she hadn’t said it. They were going to disqualify him, take his Captaincy away, give Slytherin the 480 points they had just won. He managed to keep his face as calm as his father’s, and waited for McGonagall to continue.

“However, I would suggest you keep yourselves to your assigned roles in future matches. I don’t fancy hearing Severus complain about cheating through another match. Personally, I think it was the best game I’ve seen in years,” she finished with the tiniest smile and twinkle in her eye. “Carry on, Mr Potter, Mr Porter.”

“Yes!” James shouted as soon as she left the changing room. “That was bloody brilliant!”

Harry couldn’t think of a response. He could only grin and replay the look on McGonagall’s face in his mind. The stern old witch had smiled because of something he and his father had done together. That was feat enough, but he had managed to Captain his way through the first successful game of the season. The whole Gryffindor house would finally stop their glares and whispers, even Seamus would have to admit James was the best Chaser on the team. He couldn’t wait to meet Hermione outside and tell her what McGonagall said.

The thought made his smile drop. Hermione wouldn’t be there to meet them like she did after every game. She had always come to meet him since first year. She had charmed his glasses to remain clear in the rain and kept him from being jinxed off his own broom. Had she even come to see the game today?

Ignoring his team’s curious looks, he ran for the door, not bothering to change from his Quidditch uniform. He had to see where Hermione was. He had ignored her for weeks, too caught up in practice for the coming game, and now he worried that she might be gone. The worried faces that met him on the pitch did nothing to ease his concerns.

“We lost her in the crowd,” Sirius said before Harry could even open his mouth.

“I didn’t see her all game,” Lily added. “But she wouldn’t have been allowed to leave, right? The professors had her under guard, didn’t they?”

“No,” Harry’s heart fell further at that voice. Remus, binoculars in hand and looking as worried as any of them, ran up. “It was assumed she wouldn’t be able to leave without making enough of a scene to be observed. I was keeping watch. She sat through the whole game, but disappeared just as Harry touched down.” He gave the tiniest smile to indicate how pleased he was at the game, and then frowned again. “Severus has everyone sorted at the house tables and she isn’t there. Dumbledore can’t find her. She’s gone Harry, I’m sorry.”

Harry stared at him. His favorite teacher, the man whose teachings had kept him from dying at the hands of Dementors and whose wand had saved him from Death Eaters, had lost a girl. One girl. One girl who was also the cleverest witch of her age and possessed by an ancient evil summoned from a book, which also happened to be Voldemort’s most prized possession.

Voldemort… Malfoy.

It had to have been him.

Harry’s jaw tightened even as his stomach twisted. “Is Malfoy in the Great Hall?” 


	29. Upstart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Voldemort gets pwned and Malfoy is traumatized.

29: Upstart

The timing was crucial. He only had five more minutes to get her attention. It used to be easy, a sneer and a comment about heritage, blood or a particular ginger and she would have turned and glared her anger at him. That would have been enough to grab hold and pull her away, but not anymore. Now she didn’t care what anyone said about her blood or her friends or her family. He suspected that he could stroll up with photographs of her dead parents and she wouldn’t have blinked.

Draco didn’t know what had brought on this change, but he knew it was why the Dark Lord wanted her.

Four minutes. He cursed his father again for being so stupid as to get caught, for getting sent to Azkaban and making his family’s life hell for it, for getting involved with the damn Death Eaters to begin with. Now he was suffering for his father’s mistakes. How was that fair?

Cheers broke through his mournful thoughts. He wasn’t dead yet, but he would be soon if he arrived without her. He had been given his new orders weeks ago, but he hadn’t known how to approach the girl now that everyone was so cautious of her. He had seen Pansy nearly killed for irritating her. What would she do to him after all the taunts he had thrown her way? It didn’t help that she was never alone. One of them was always with her – a Weasley or a Porter – but rarely Potter, which confused him. Potter was loyal to a fault; it’s what had lured him to the Ministry last year. He didn’t understand the change.

He had seen a window of opportunity, however – the library.

Different and dark as she had become, she still went to the library every day. He sat for a week watching her take books off the same shelf in a particular order, and he had placed the note in the book he knew would come next. He watched from his table as she took it, read the note and turned those once-warm brown eyes to look at him. A hint of a smirk touched her mouth and he knew she would come.

But she was coming too late. Just two minutes left and she still wasn’t there.

One minute.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Granger, where the bloody hell have you been?” he hissed as the students began to file past, not paying either of them the slightest attention as they discussed the fantastic game that had just ended.

“Watching the game, of course,” she replied. Her voice had changed, too. He used to love hearing her fight the quiver of rage and tears whenever he taunted her, but there was none of that. He could assault her with the foulest slurs he knew, and she would respond in that same metered tone.

He didn’t care for Granger one bit, but he knew it was wrong.

“The ring,” he held up his hand, the gold ring shone on his pinky. “It’s a portkey. It will activate any second now and take us to the Dark Lord.”

A slow and feline smile pulled across her face. “I’ve been so looking forward to meeting him.” She touched her fingers to the ring, brushing his skin as she did. He shivered to feel how cold she was; nothing like the warm hand she had slapped him with three years earlier. Before he could note her reaction to his disgust, the portkey activated and tore them from their place outside the Quidditch pitch.

“Bring her closer,” the low voice spoke.

Draco bowed his head once in a slow nod. He wanted to grab her arm roughly and haul her forward, but she frightened him as much as Voldemort did. She looked at him expectantly, an eyebrow raised in question. He split the difference between a gentlemanly offering of his arm and crass manhandling, placing a hand on her back to gently push her forward. It wasn’t so rude that she would hex him, but not so polite that the Dark Lord would think him soft.

The hisses and slurs filled his ears. The assembled Death Eaters sneered and let their tongues speak bravely from behind their masks. Filth, mudblood, whore, disgusting. They laughed and waited for the girl to scream and beg for mercy at the hands of their great Lord. Draco knew better and kept his mouth shut.

“I’m so pleased you’ve succeeded, Draco,” The Dark Lord said, his voice caressing the boy’s cheek and filling him with a strange hope. He stepped forward and kissed the hand he was offered as he had been taught by his father. He kept his mind blank as he had been taught by Snape. The hand was withdrawn and Draco stepped back, his mother’s reached out and gripped his shoulder with painful protectiveness.

“Granger, was it not?” Voldemort said, his voice holding no malice.

“Mudblood!” Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked. “You stand before the Dark Lord! Filth like you belongs below his feet! Kneel!”

“I see no reason to lower myself before inferior beings,” Hermione replied, her eyes never leaving Voldemort. “And I had been looking forward to meeting you. So disappointing.”

“Crucio!” the mad Black howled and threw the Unforgivable curse at the girl. She didn’t scream or cry or react in any normal or expected way. “Crucio! CRUCIO!”

Hermione waited patiently for the woman to stop screaming before she released a put-upon sigh and turned her attention to the wild-haired witch as she would to a toddler screaming for sweets. “Are you quite finished?”

The Death Eaters had no idea what to make of it. No one – Muggle, Mudblood or Pureblood – had ever withstood a Cruciatus curse without some visible reaction. Most screamed, some went mad after only one hex, but they all did _something_. It was as if she hadn’t felt anything. More than one Death Eater took a cautious step backward.

“Very impressive, Granger,” the Dark Lord smiled encouragingly. “What would you do in return for such treatment?”

“I see no need to lower myself to its level,” Hermione practically sneered at the bewildered witch.

“Y-You are a Mudblood! There is nothing lower than you!” Bellatrix shrieked, expressing her confusion in the only manner she knew, anger.

“Is it your common practice to permit your subordinates to interrupt your interrogations?” the young witch questioned Voldemort. “I would not stand for it, were it me.”

“Show me what you would do to your subordinates,” Voldemort encouraged her in his seductive hiss.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix implored, falling to her knees and pulling at the wizard’s robes. Draco turned his face away in embarrassment for his aunt and also because he knew that whatever Granger chose to do it would be very unpleasant to watch.

His aunt screamed, not her usual ranting screams as she cursed Mudbloods or the raving screams that came when she returned from a night of Muggle Hunting. These were the same kind of gut-wrenching screams that came from Pansy in Defence class. Draco had nearly thrown up when he had seen the girl writhing on the floor that day. He dared look and saw his mad aunt doing the same, her skin blistering as if she were being burned alive. Granger, for all the harm she was doing, showed less emotion than even the Dark Lord, who was watching the scene with a smile and hungry red eyes.

“What is she?” his mother whispered in disgusted horror.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back.

Voldemort clapped his hands, slowly and appreciatively. Hermione turned her eyes to him, letting the curse leave Bellatrix to whimper with the aftereffects on the polished marble floor. “Leave her,” he ordered and stepped over his most loyal follower to reach the young witch.

“I always imagined the sort of power my book would yield, but you are more than I had ever dreamed,” he confessed. “Join me.”

“I believe I have already made plain my opinion of you,” she said flatly.

The snakelike eyes narrowed and exhaled what might have passed for an amused chuckle in a normal human, but it sounded threatening and sinister to Draco’s ears. The Dark wizard gestured wide to the masked men and women who had vowed with their blood and bodies to serve him until death and beyond. He voiced no warning, but the meaning was clear. She was outnumbered.

The girl all but shrugged, “I do not ally myself to cowards.”

“Cowards?” There was threat to his voice now, where before there had been nothing but softness and seduction.

She flicked her cold fingers at the very same Death Eaters he had gestured to. Their masks fell away, leaving the men and women to scramble to hide their faces. “Cowards who hide their faces, serving a coward who hides his soul.” She sneered and stepped closer, her deep brown eyes looking through the Dark Lord and seeing into his heart and mind and fractured soul. “Only a frightened little rabbit would lack the courage to stand and fight with his soul intact. Only a coward would need to break his soul apart and hide the bits away to make himself feel more powerful than his is.”

Her eyes fell from him to the large snake that circled Voldemort’s thrown-like chair. It hissed its disapproval of her words. A smile, sweet and pleasant, appeared on her face, which only made her look more disturbing in the perilous situation. No sane Muggle-born witch would smile so innocently in the presence of the Dark Lord and his followers. She turned her cold eyes and smiling face back to Voldemort and snapped her fingers.

Nagini, the great snake, hissed and let loose noises no one thought a snake could ever make. It’s massive body slammed into the walls and furniture as it writhed and coiled in pain. Voldemort’s demon eyes betrayed his fear as he watched the snake fall to the floor and sit like a lump before the warm fire, behaving like any other large snake would.

“The odds are now even,” Hermione informed him. “You’ve not soul enough to make another Horcrux. You are no more immortal than Harry.”

“You—“

“I can kill you now if you like,” she offered. “It would certainly save any more trouble in the future.”

“Remove that thing from my presence!” Voldemort ordered.

“Suit yourself,” Hermione shrugged and turned her back on the greatest Dark Wizard ever known. He posed no threat to her. “Malfoy, where’s that portkey?”

Draco broke from his mother’s grip and all but ran to Hermione’s side. He pulled the ring off his hand of offered it to her. She made no move to charm it, merely looked at it for a moment before placing her hand to it and pulling them both from the Malfoy Manor.

Malfoy stumbled back in shock and fear. “You didn’t even use your wand!”

“No need,” she smiled and looked at him.

“Are you mad?” he spat, backing away further. “You attacked the Dark Lord!”

“Wasn’t as if it was difficult,” she commented and stepped closer.

“What are you doing?”

“Malfoy,” she tilted her head as she looked him over, “you hate me, don’t you?”

He panicked. Was she looking for confirmation so that she could kill him? Or did she want to test him to see if he would lie and try to get on her good side? “Yeah.”

“Good, you’ll do nicely then.” She launched herself at him, taking his mouth with her own and plundering it with her tongue as her hands tore at his belt. The poor boy didn’t know how to respond. She terrified him so he didn’t dare push her away, but he still hated her so he didn’t want to kiss her back. He had to admit she was a better kisser than most of the Slytherin girl’s he’d been with, but that didn’t change the fact that he had just seen her attack the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world.

Her hands had made it into his trousers and he still didn’t know what to do. Her actions felt good and he wanted to respond, but knowing who she was and seeing what she had done made his stomach turn. His eyes wide and staring, he prayed for help.

“Hermione!”   
“Miss Granger!”

Draco was never so pleased to be caught snogging in his life. The Gryffindor Princess was pried off him and the boy ran back to the safety of the viper pit. 


	30. Soulless

Ron was horrified. Hermione,  _his_  Hermione, was kissing Malfoy,  _touching_  Malfoy. The git was paler than ever and slightly green, his hands weren't even on her, and his eyes were wide open in shock. As much as Ron wanted to blame the kissing on Malfoy, he knew it was all Hermione's doing. His gut twisted and he felt like he might throw up. How many times had he wanted her to kiss him like that? How many nights had he dreamed of her hands working their way into his trousers like they were into Malfoy's? How often had he tried to tell her that he liked her and failed?

And who does she go and start snogging? Fondling? Draco Malfoy. It was disgusting.

"Hermione!" he protested. Professor McGonagall saw, too, and shouted, "Miss Granger!"

Ron pulled her away and watched, almost amused, as Malfoy scrambled to escape.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron shouted and shook her, praying that this is what she had needed all along. That maybe, if he shook her hard enough, the darkness would come loose and fall from her head. The cold glare she was giving him informed him otherwise. He jumped away from her as if she had scalded him.

"Miss Granger, that was completely inappropriate behavior for a Prefect!" McGonagall said, struggling to keep herself from shouting. "And you were not to leave Hogwarts grounds without permission."

"Um, Professor," Ron said lamely. "Maybe we should back off a bit." There was something about the look in Hermione's eyes that told him she wasn't in the mood for a scolding, but the Deputy Headmistress didn't seem to remember that Hermione wasn't her usual docile self.

"Miss Granger, I am very disapp—"

"Enough!" Hermione declared and the old witch crumpled to the ground.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione," Ron said and checked to see if McGonagall was still breathing. "That was a bit much. You could've just petrified her."

The girl eyed him curiously as if considering what to make of him. Her narrowed gaze was worrying and he did his best to avoid it without looking guilty. Could she read his thoughts? Did she recognize his desire and jealousy? "You are too close, I think," she said finally. "You like me too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he couldn't stop himself saying.

She considered him a moment longer, then left him and walked away toward the Gryffindor tower. Ron wasn't sure what to do. Hermione was back and he had to tell Harry or Dumbledore, but McGonagall was out cold and needed to go to the hospital wing.

oOo

Harry paced the Headmaster's office, occasionally bumping into Sirius, who was equally incapable of sitting still. The boy cursed as Harry's shin guard collided with his leg again, but that didn't hault either of their agitated movements around the room. Remus and James scoured the Marauder's Map for any signs of Hermione or Draco Malfoy. It had been fifteen minutes and they still hadn't managed to find either one.

"Dammit! I told McGonagall!" Harry shouted for a third time. "I said it was Malfoy, but she completely dismissed it!"

"She informed me of your suspicions Harry, but without proof, there was nothing that could be done," Dumbledore replied in a calm tone, again for the third time.

"I'm sorry," Lily said. "But what is all that?" She pointed to the table covered in tarnished silver and dusty gold objects. It had not been in the Headmaster's office the last time she was there and it seemed out of place among the strange, polished gold and brass machines.

"Stuff Mundungus Fletcher nicked from Sirius's house after he died," Harry grumbled. "How did he end up in the Order anyway?"

"He owed some favors and is privy to some very useful information," Dumbledore said with a twinkle that implied more than he said.

"But why is it here?" Lily insisted, wanting to keep Harry's mind focused on something other than his missing friend. "Why wasn't it put back?"

"A Dark Artifact was found among the items." Dumbledore gestured to a locket, heavy and gold with an S inlaid in delicate green jewels into the top. Harry remembered the locket from the house but it seemed he had seen it somewhere else, too. His frazzled mind couldn't focus properly and the location wasn't coming to him.

Sirius snorted. "Big surprise coming from my house."

"Will you stop that already?" Harry snapped. "They're dead. Get ov—AH!" He screamed and clutched his chest and forehead. He felt the sharp, painful, burning stab that he hadn't felt in months. It felt as if Voldemort was impaling him with pokers fresh from the fire. His vision clouded and he saw Hermione standing before him and Nagini writhing with the same pain he now felt. The heavy gold locket dropped from Dumbledore's hand, glowing progressively brighter as it heated from the power of the spell affecting it.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Sirius grabbed Harry and held him tight to keep him from hurting himself or anybody else. Even after the boy stopped screaming, Sirius held him close. He could feel Harry's erratic heartbeat and knew that whatever pain had touched him had not dissipated yet.

It took a moment to blink back the spots in his eyes, but Harry was able to see clearly again. "You can let go now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked. "A vision?"

"It was Hermione. Voldemort was scared of her. She'd done something to Nagini, that pet snake of his," Harry said, his breathing still ragged. This wasn't quite like his normal visions of Voldemort where the wizard was gleefully happy and murderous.

"This…" Dumbledore collected the locket from the floor. It was still warm, but he deftly manipulated the lock and pulled the locket open, something which no one at Number 12 had managed to do the summer before fifth year. Harry remembered it had remained stubbornly locked regardless of who attempted to open it or what spell they used. It had been chucked in the bin, which was likely where Mundungus had picked it up.

"It's what?" Sirius demanded, sounding confident even in his panic and confusion. "What is it?"

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said in a whisper, which only grew quieter as he continued, "and terrible."

"What does that mean?"

"Harry," Dumbledore turned his eyes to the boy. "Open your mind to Voldemort, focus all your thoughts on him and try to enter his mind as you did last year."

"No!" More than one horrified voice protested.

"Try, Harry."

He swallowed back the pain and fear and closed his eyes, trying to bring his mind to the place it had just been, to the dark drawing room with the polished marble floors and a frightened Voldemort, but his mind wouldn't go. "I can't."

"Wonderful," the old man said again.

"What's so bloody wonderful about Harry being able to invade Voldemort's head?" Lily shouted, too stressed to bother playing the voice of reason.

"It's his inability to do so that's wonderful. You are no longer connected to him, Harry."

Harry shook his head, still confused. "You said that he closed it off after last summer…"

Dumbledore smiled again, that maddeningly knowing smile. "He chose to close the connection because it hurt him to feel the love that you feel," Dumbledore corrected. "But now the connection between you has been severed."

"What connection?" Harry said. He knew that Voldemort had transferred some of his powers to him when the curse failed, though he still didn't understand how.

"It's something we haven't quite reached in our lessons, Harry, but have you ever heard of a Horcrux?" Dumbledore asked him as if he were questioning whether Harry might like a biscuit with his tea, yet he could tell there was something important to this. His suspicions were confirmed when Remus gasped and stared open-mouthed and horrified at the Headmaster.

"No, sir."

"A Horcrux is the darkest magic known to exist," Dumbledore began. "They can only be made through violence. When a witch or wizard murders in conjunction with a specific spell, the soul of the caster is split and a Horcrux is made." Harry nodded, but didn't see the connection. "More than anything else, Tom wants immortality. Horcruxes are how he has chosen to obtain it. When he dies, he finds a piece of his soul that he has hidden away and it brings him to life, as you saw."

"But what does that have to do with me?" Harry stared at the old wizard's eyes; they held more twinkle than they did blue and it was infuriating. There was an unspoken secret he was keeping so close to the surface that Harry was certain if he stared long enough he could see it. He struggled to keep his temper and considered the implication of Dumbledore's words.

Horcruxes were part of the soul torn away by murder. Voldemort died, yet he hadn't died. He came back and Harry felt his happiness, saw his anger, spoke his rare and dark language. Harry and he were bonded.

"I'm a Horcrux," Harry realized slowly.

"Correction," Dumbledore held up a finger. "You  _were_  one of his Horcruxes. The one he never intended to create."

"Were? I'm not anymore?"

Dumbledore smiled, "When he tried to kill you all those years ago, part of his soul went into you. It's why you could speak Parseltongue. It's why you could see what Tom saw when he was angry or exceedingly pleased. You and Tom were joined by his soul."

Harry suddenly felt tainted. He had carried part of that madman in him for fifteen years. He had held a fraction of the soul of the monster who had murdered his parents. "You keeps saying it like it's not true anymore, Professor."

"Because it is no longer in you," Dumbledore held up the locket. "Does this look familiar, Harry?"

"It's the locket no one could open at Grimmauld Place," Harry shrugged.

"Have you not seen it anywhere else? In a memory, perhaps?" the old wizard prompted.

A memory? Harry stared at the ornate locket dangling from the Headmaster's hand and remembered. "That's Slytherin's locket, the one Merope stole when she ran off to marry Riddle," he said. "Wait, was that a Horcrux, too?"

"Brilliant as ever," Dumbledore smiled. "It was, as was the diary you destroyed second year. And the ring I wore the night I collected you from your Aunt's home this summer. And the snake Tom kept so close to himself. It appears that all the Horcruxes Tom murdered to create have been destroyed."

"So… that means… Voldemort is… dead?"

"I'm afraid not. Only the Horcruxes were destroyed; the piece of his soul that is still inside him was not," Dumbledore shook his head, but when he stopped and looked into Harry's eyes, his own were exploding with light. "It means, Harry, that he is mortal. He has only enough soul to keep himself alive and no more to rely on. When he dies, Harry, he will die forever."

This was brilliant. He didn't fancy having to battle the Dark Wizard again, but he was giddy with the knowledge that when they finally met it would be for the very last time. Voldemort could not live after their final battle. He would not pop up again after another eleven years. He was as vulnerable as Harry.

"Why now?" Lily asked with a forced calm. They were talking about her son bearing a demented wizard's soul, having to face him in combat and kill him. It was disturbing and certainly not the destiny she would have wanted for him.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.

"Hermione did this," Harry stared at the locket, now nothing but a gaudy bit of Hogwarts's history.

Dumbledore nodded and the twinkles vanished from his eyes. "That is the terrible part, I'm afraid."

Harry remembered the vision of Voldemort's fear. He wasn't just afraid for what she was doing to his Horcruxes, he was afraid of her. Hermione was powerful enough to terrify the most dark and powerful wizard on Earth. What did that make her? "What can we do?"

"First, we must find her. Then, we must prevent her from leaving again," the Headmaster said. "Voldemort will not risk her anger, but he will need her on his side if he wishes to destroy you."

"Great." Harry slouched into one of the chairs, his restlessness forgotten. He went from being the happiest Chosen One that ever lived to being the most miserable. Voldemort would still be coming after him, and he would be trying to use his best friend to do it. Hermione was like his sister and he had let her slip away. He felt a queasiness building up in his gut and knew that if something didn't change fast, he would be running for the nearest toilet.

"There!" Remus stabbed the map. "Hermione and Draco are in the entrance hall. Ron and Minerva aren't very far away."

Harry sprinted for the door, eager to get his arms around Hermione, even if she was evil.


	31. Lock & Key

The girl fell, rigid and immobile, to the hard stone floor. She so resembled a statue that Harry half-expected her to shatter on impact, but she just dropped with a solid ‘thump’. Her eyes focused on the one who had attacked her, the shabby and brown werewolf who still trained his wand on her. No witch of her age should be able to bring herself out of a full-body bind, but he somehow believed her capable of it.

“Stupefy!” he shouted and sent his strongest stunner at her. Her eyes remained open as her eyelids were frozen and unable to close but they lost their focus.

“What did you do that for?” Harry shoved Lupin’s arm away and raced the last few feet to Hermione, stunned and unmoving on the ground. She looked normal, not evil, but he knew what she was capable of doing, what she had just done. He wanted to thank her for making it easier for him, but she wouldn’t hear him.

“We have to keep her away from Voldemort, Harry,” Remus said. “Draco got to her with a portkey. Someone else could do the same. We have to lock her up.”

“What? She’s not a criminal!”

“No, she’s far worse.”

“You’re meant to be helping her, Remus,” Harry spat.

“And I am,” he assured the boy. “When she’s back to her old self, she wouldn’t be very happy to find we’d let her wander free.” He chuckled softly imagining the girl’s consternation. He hadn’t seen it in months, but he remembered it well. Hermione was fantastic for it, and would be again if he had any say in the matter.

The Headmaster appeared and raised the immobile girl with a flick of his wrist. She floated ahead of them down into the lower depths of the castle, well beyond the dingy dungeon level where Snape lived and had once taught his Potions classes, to the lowest level of the castle, where there were no windows or secret passages and the doors were five inches thick and made of the heaviest metals available to the founding witches and wizards. These doors had withstood war and the anger of more than one captive wizard, and now they would withstand the ire of one clever witch.

The girl landed lightly on the bare floor. “Her wand, Harry,” Dumbledore said. Harry hurried to collect it from her sleeve, terrified she would wake up and attack him. He scrambled back out the narrow doorway and watched the door slam shut and the heavy beams rotate and lengthen to reinforce the door, heard the clicks of several locks. It was like a fortress.

Before today Harry couldn’t have imagine Hogwarts ever needing so secure a cell.

“The Order has been called,” Dumbledore said. “A guard will be posted outside her door until a solution is found. Severus will be here shortly.”

Remus nodded and walked away. Harry stared at his back as he left. He couldn’t believe it. Remus was leaving her? He had petrified her, stunned her, helped to lock her away and he was just going to abandon her? It wasn’t right. He was Hermione’s favorite teacher. She had kept his secret when anyone else would have run to the Ministry to report him as a dangerous creature. How would he just walk away?

“Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted the boy’s thoughts. “Don’t think less of him. He is more valuable in my office translating than he is here as a guard. Will you keep watch with me while we wait for Severus?”

Harry nodded. “Will you keep her petrified?”

“That is for Miss Granger to decide,” he said sadly. “I believe she is strong enough to remove the hex herself once she recovers from the shock of it.”

“If she can do that,” he worried aloud, “then what’s to keep her breaking out of the cell?” He touched his hand to the door. It was metal and thick and old, but so were the hinges on the Defence classroom. She had melted those in seconds.

“Protective charms, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled. “Very old and very powerful. They were cast by Godric Gryffindor himself. The cell was designed by Rowena Ravenclaw. I’m sure you know how strong and clever they both were.” Harry nodded. “They locked Salazar Slytherin in to see if he was clever enough to break free.”

“Did he?”

“Twice,” the old wizard chuckled. “But with changes, he could not escape a third time. No, the most cunning wizard could not escape; I believe Miss Granger will remain safely inside.”

Harry nodded, still not quite sure what reasons the Founders could have for creating such an escape-proof cell. Maybe they knew about the book and feared it might come to Hogwarts. Or maybe they just liked being prepared. Anything was possible when magic was involved, and he was certain Rowena Ravenclaw was smart enough to know that.

“Headmaster,” Snape spoke quietly. “Professor McGonagall is in the hospital wing. Miss Granger attacked her upon her return.”

Dumbledore nodded his sad understanding and looked meaningfully at Harry. “We will visit her immediately. Severus, send your Patronus should an emergency arise.” Snape nodded and leaned on the cool stone across from the solid and, hopefully, impenetrable door, his narrow black eyes staring at it. Harry got the impression he was daring it to open.

He walked away with the Headmaster, leaving Snape alone in the dark corridor. A new fear began eating away at his stomach. What if there was no cure? What if they couldn’t bring her back? Would she become the greatest dark witch in the history of the world? She had already destroyed all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. It had taken him a basilisk fang to destroy just one, and that had nearly killed him. Looking at the state of Dumbledore’s black and withered hand, he suspected that the Horcrux ring had nearly killed him, as well.

It would take a lot to kill something this strong and evil.

A hand flew to Harry’s head as he groaned and fell against the wall.

“Harry! What is it?” Dumbledore took his shoulders and examined his eyes for signs of Voldemort.

“The poem,” Harry said. “’The blood of the maiden must surely be spilled, For the source of evil to be truly killed’.” He didn’t have to say any more. Dumbledore probably already knew what was going to have to be done. Remus could translate Voldemort’s copy of the book into every language in the world and he wouldn’t come up with another answer. Hermione was going to have to die. It’s the only way to remove the evil.

The old wizard’s gentle hand guided him up the stairs and to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey forced a spoon of potion into his mouth and he fell into sleep even though it was barely two o’clock in the afternoon. He was untroubled by nightmares and slept away the afternoon with Ron sitting beside him and Professor McGonagall unconscious in the bed across the ward.

His face split wide open as he yawned and woke from his dreamless sleep. Ron was snoring in the chair beside his bed.

“Harry!”

“Hm?” he replied sleepily, not really recognizing the person who spoke, his vision was blurred from sleep and genetics. He fumbled lazily to find his glasses and had them thrust onto his face by less than gentle hands. He saw Ginny staring at him. “You look pretty,” he mumbled.

“What?” she blushed.

“Flirt later,” Sirius growled. “Hermione’s gone.”

“She’s locked up in the dungeon with the Order,” Harry said and tried to roll over. It was difficult with Ginny sitting on his legs. He thought maybe he could just hug her and roll over with her, but she didn’t seem to want to move.

“The dungeon? Order?” Sirius said and started cursing his confusion loudly, not caring that there was a teacher asleep in the same room or that Madam Pomfrey already didn’t like them being there. “What the fuck are they doing to her?”

“Mr Porter!” Madam Pomfrey hissed. “I must insist you leave, you are disturbing the patients.” She pointed to the door, not giving him the opportunity to apologize or promise to quiet down. He wouldn’t have been able to be quiet anyway, he was too angry. He shoved the door open, knocking down the witch on the opposite side.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he pulled the woman up.

She dusted herself off half-heartedly and nodded her acceptance of his apology. “Wotcher, Sirius,” she said absently and walked past.

Tonks was inside the infirmary and halfway to Harry’s bed before she realized just who had helped her up. She spun around, tripped on a bedrail and stumbled back through the doors to chase him down. Toppling into him in the entrance hall, she grabbed her cousin in a vice-like hug.

“Sirius!” she squealed with more enthusiasm than she had shown in months.

“Yeah,” he said, afraid of the woman. “Do I know you?”

“It’s me! Tonks – Dora!”

“Nymphadora?” he stared at her a moment and watched at her hair turned bright red at the name. That made him smile broadly and pull her into an equally rib-cracking hug. “This is brilliant! What’re you doing here? You should’ve graduated years ago.”

“I’m in the Order,” she said and squeezed him even tighter.

“Ow! You win!” he said and let go of his freakishly strong cousin.

She grinned. “I always do.”

Sirius stopped smiling and took hold of the woman’s shoulders. “Order. That’s what Harry said. Hermione’s in the dungeon with the Order. What’s the Order?”

She looked him over a moment, noticing for the first time that he was not the same as when he had died. She wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. Observation was one of the first skills taught to Aurors. She should have seen the differences immediately – the hair was longer and held no grey, his skin was healthy and tight, not a sign of wrinkles anywhere on his face, his clothes were clearly a Hogwarts uniform. He couldn’t be more than seventeen years old and she had just told him about the Order of the Phoenix. “Stupid, Tonks! Just stupid!”

Her hair flamed red again, this time in anger at herself. The spikes grew to a dangerous sharpness. She grabbed his arm and marched through the corridors toward the Headmaster’s office, muttering curses at herself and her stupidity the whole way.

The gargoyle leapt aside for her without requiring a password and she stomped up the steps, dragging Sirius along behind her. She knocked and pushed the door open simultaneously and stopped dead as soon as she stepped inside. Her spikes melted and her angry red hair faded to a plain brown as she looked across the room to Remus. She looked away quickly and walked to Dumbledore’s desk.

“I messed up,” she confessed.

The Headmaster looked up from his copy of The Deatheater Chronicles, concern pulling at his face. Over the top of his spectacles he glanced between Tonks and Sirius. A smile pulled at his mouth and a twinkle appeared in his worried eye. “I see no reason to berate yourself, Miss Tonks.”

“But I mentioned the Order to him.”

“Harry mentioned it before you did,” Sirius said. “He said Hermione was in the dungeon with the Order. Is that a good thing?”

“As good a thing as can be expected in her situation. As to the Order of the Phoenix – You were a member after you graduated, and before you died, Sirius,” Dumbledore nodded to Fawkes, the Phoenix preening himself on a brass perch beside the desk. “If things cannot be resolved, you may perhaps join again once you are of age.”

Sirius just raised an eyebrow at the oddity of the situation. His three-year-old cousin had hugged him and dragged him to the Headmaster, where he was discovering the existence of a secret society to which he was already a member but wouldn’t be allowed to join because he was too young. He did what he always did when he was confused, put on a confident smile. “Look forward to it.”

“Miss Tonks, you are here to relieve Severus, I believe,” Dumbledore said and the young woman nodded. “Sirius, you may accompany us, but do not try to visit Miss Granger without supervision or permission. Even if the Order member guarding Miss Granger knows you personally, he or she will treat you as a threat.”

Sirius just nodded and followed behind the Headmaster, watching as Tonks glanced sadly at Remus, who adopted the rigid posture of a man trying very hard to appear busy. Tonks and Moony? Sirius had not seen that one coming. He grinned and elbowed his cousin, who just shook her head and remained a lifeless brown. Sirius would have to have a word with his old friend about this. His gloomy thoughts were in no way aided by the increasing damp and dark of the lower levels of the castle.

“Anything, Severus?” Dumbledore inquired.

“She is mobile, Headmaster,” Snape said, “and quite angry.” The heavy door shook on its solid hinges, but did not fall. “She had been trying to break the door down for the last five minutes.”

“Has she said anything?”

“Death threats mainly.” Snape replied dryly and Sirius bit back the urge to make a cheeky comment; that was James’s department and he was certain Snape would give him detention for it even though they weren’t in class. The door shook again. “I grew understandably tired of hearing how she intended to kill me, so I elected to cast a silencing spell on the cell. You are more than welcome to remove it.” Snape smirked as he glided past them and left the dungeons.

Curiosity got the better of her and Tonks waved her wand to remove the silencing charm. The shriek that met their unprepared ears was startling at best. Tonks shrunk back as the girl on the opposite side of the door alternated between violence and spells in a guttural language she didn’t understand. Then it was silent.

“I think,” Dumbledore said as he returned his wand to his pocket, “that was sufficient to remind you that the creature behind that door is not the Hermione Granger you knew. Keep her safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Tonks said and settled down on the cold stones to stare at the door for the remainder of her shift.


	32. Justified Means

Sirius didn’t want to leave his cousin alone to guard the door; she was only three years old where he was from. She could barely walk without falling over and spent more time throwing food than hexes. She made him stay with her until she fell asleep because she was afraid that the monster in her closet would attack her. She couldn’t protect herself against Hermione. He moved to sit beside her, but Dumbledore took his elbow and began guiding him away.

“I can’t leave her alone,” Sirius insisted quietly.

Dumbledore’s eye shone in the darkness. “Miss Tonks is a fully-trained Auror. She can take care of herself, believe me.”

Dora was an Auror? But he had just visited her at the end of the summer. She still couldn’t tie her own shoes and had trouble buttoning her shirt without skipping over at least one button and leaving one side of her shirt hanging lower than the other – ‘Creative Buttoning’ Ted and Andromeda Tonks jokingly called it. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Tonks sitting opposite Hermione’s door, a grim and determined frown on her face. It was a dark mirror of the frown she wore when trying and failing to make her nose the same shape as his. She was little Dora even if she was nearly as tall as him.

“Much has changed, Sirius,” Dumbledore said quietly. “It’s difficult to see when inside the castle, but the world outside is not one you would easily recognize.”

Sirius said nothing. Dumbledore kept hold of his arm, knowing that if he let go Sirius would return to the woman that was his baby cousin. He brought Sirius to his office and set him opposite Remus, a fair and understanding guardian, who could keep him from returning to the dungeons. He excused himself politely from his own office and left to oversee dinner.

“Dora is an Auror,” Sirius said almost to himself. “When did that happen?”

“Not too long ago,” Remus replied and kept searching his dictionaries. “She’s very good. You shouldn’t worry.”

“What are your intentions?” Sirius asked, his eyes narrowed at his scarred and tattered old friend.

“I’m sorry?”

“Toward Dora. What are your intentions toward Dora?” Sirius demanded.

Remus wanted to laugh. Sirius at sixteen was hardly one to demand such information; as he recalled, Sirius had left more than one girl weeping when he didn’t fall madly in love with her. But he saw that the boy had cast aside his façade and was looking at Remus with earnest concern for his cousin. “I have no intentions, as I have explained to her already.”

“You broke her heart, you mean,” Sirius corrected him angrily.

“I’m too old for her, Sirius,” his spine gave way and he slumped in his chair, his age and exhaustion showing. “I’m too poor, too dangerous. She can do far better than me.”

Sirius just glared at him for hurting Dora and for turning into this sad old man. _His_ Remus would never have given up for such bullshit reasons. _His_ Remus never gave up on anything. Dumbledore was right; this world wasn’t one he could recognize. He ripped his eyes away from Lupin and turned his withering stare to the wall just to the left of the man’s head and kept his eyes trained there. He didn’t care if he resembled a recalcitrant child. His world was falling apart around him; this second life was turning out to be more bitter and painful than the first.

Remus swallowed his desire to explain himself and turned back to his books. It’s why he was here. It was the job he was meant to do.

Dinner arrived via House Elf, though neither of them was inclined to eat anything. They sat in vexed silence until the door opened and Dumbledore returned. He glanced at the progress Remus was making as he passed by on the way to his own desk, then sat with them in silence, waiting.

Sirius didn’t understand what he was waiting for, but his answer soon came as the fireplace flared and figures stepped through. One after another, a parade of adults he didn’t know came through the Floo Network into the office. They all greeted Dumbledore and Remus with absolute respect before turning their amazed glances to him. A pair of twins that had to be related to the ginger oaf hurried over and shook his hand excitedly.

“Sirius! Brilliant to see you again.”

“Even better than you were before!”

“Wouldn’t mind getting some of your teenaged insight into pranks and products.”

“Fred! George!” a plump woman called them into order. Her round face looked wrong with such a serious expression on it. She looked much better when she smiled warmly at him. “Sirius, dear, wonderful to have you back.”

His hand seemed to become public property, as each witch and wizard came and took hold of it, gripping his hand to see if he was solid and shaking his arm nearly out of its socket. They were ‘delighted’, ‘amazed’, ‘confused’ and ‘so bloody happy’ to have him back and see him in the land of the living again. Normally, Sirius would bask in the glory of such a welcome, but he was finding it overwhelming.

The door opened and Dora led Harry and his parents in. Their arrival changed the mood dramatically. Sirius had brought them excited and curious chatter, James and Lily stopped their mouths from working altogether. Those who had happily gripped his hand approached the pair with reverence, taking James and Lily’s hands delicately and holding them lightly and with the utmost respect, as if they were made from the finest bone china. He had thought Hermione’s description of them as mythical was an exaggeration, but clearly it wasn’t. The Order members approached like worshipers at an altar.

Tonks skirted around the worshipers, keeping her eye fixed on Dumbledore and refusing to look at Remus who stood beside him. “McGonagall is guarding Hermione, sir.”

The Headmaster clapped his hands to bring silence to the assembly. “I believe we have all arrived, let this meeting begin.” He conjured chairs enough for everyone and waited for them to sit before he spoke again. “We have had a considerable change since our last meeting.”

“Pardon me, but should the children be here, Dumbledore,” Kingsley Shacklebolt asked, not unkindly.

“This concerns them as much as it concerns the rest of us, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore replied and gestured for the teens to come forward. Harry glanced worriedly around. He recognized everyone in the room, knew it was every member of the Order of the Phoenix minus Professor McGonagall, who was down in the dungeons, and knew that it probably did not bode well.

“There’s news?” Arthur asked nervously, his eyes darting among the resurrected Order members. Anything that raised the dead could not be a good sign as he recalled from the nearly-resurrected Tom Riddle four years earlier.

“Yes, good and bad,” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort is now mortal as any of us.”

“How is that possible?” Kingsley stared at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably under the imposing wizard’s gaze.

“Miss Granger, which brings us to the bad,” he gestured to James, Lily and Sirius. “You will have noticed these are no ordinary Hogwarts students. Miss Granger discovered a dangerous artifact and brought them back to us… along with something very powerful. It had taken hold of her body. It was this dark power that allowed her to destroy the Horcruxes that gave Voldemort his immortality.

 “Miss Granger went willing to Voldemort and returned to us,” Dumbledore said, his voice low and filled with hidden meaning. The murmurs of dread and understanding rolled through the assembled Order members.

“No! No, she doesn’t want to join Voldemort,” Harry interrupted stubbornly. “She hurt him, scared him. She called him a coward and left. She doesn’t want to join him.” He glared at them, daring someone to contradict him. No one spoke for some time as they considered what it meant.

“We cannot,” Dumbledore said, breaking through the painful silence, “risk Miss Granger falling into enemy hands. The detailed knowledge she has of your life and habits, Harry, would make her an ideal weapon against you. Even if she doesn’t join with Voldemort, she could turn on you herself.”

“What do you suggest?” Remus asked. “Keep her locked away?”

The Headmaster shook his head, slowly and sadly.

“No!” Harry shouted.

“What?” James looked on, confused.

“’The blood of the maiden must surely be spilled’,” Sirius quoted bitterly. He didn’t think any further explanation was necessary as James grew pale.

“Miss Granger is far too clever to allow herself to remain in captivity for long,” the old wizard said. “We must end this before she is too powerful to be stopped.” His voice held a grief totally unconnected to Hermione and they all knew what it stemmed from. Tom Riddle. Had Dumbledore been able to stop him sooner, scores of Muggles, witches and wizards could have been saved. Harry balled his hands into fists, angry that the Headmaster was trying to make up for his mistakes by killing Hermione.

“Who’s to do it then?” Arthur asked, his voice thick and pained.

“I will,” Harry volunteered, startling more than one witch or wizard. “She’s my best friend. If she’s going to be… it should be done out of kindness.”

“Load of fucking tosh,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You must be able to face Voldemort with a whole heart and a soul untarnished by murder.”

The room fell silent again as everyone stopped and stared at the white-haired wizard. They all knew the word for what they were discussing, but none thought he would have the courage to call it what it was. Murder. The taking of an innocent life. Hermione was possessed by a powerful evil, but she herself was untainted by that evil’s sins. They were going to kill her to rid the world of the evil inside her.

“This task must fall to one who has no love for her or any hatred,” Dumbledore glanced over the members present and found few that had not been touched directly by Hermione. Kingsley stood and stepped forward, his spine stiff and shoulders squared.

“I will take the assignment,” he said with no pride.

“You can’t!” Harry protested, but it was no good. He knew better than anyone how clever Hermione was, how much she knew about him and just how vicious she had become. She would be beyond even Dumbledore’s stopping soon.

“Albus,” Remus interrupted. “I’ve only just finished the translation. Give me more time. I might find something.”

Harry looked between them, hope welling up in him. Lupin was the best teacher he’d ever had. He could find a way if Dumbledore gave him time. But the Headmaster shook his head slowly again. “She is too powerful to be held captive for that long, Remus. It should have taken her a day to break free of the petrification hex, but she shed it in a matter of hours.”

Remus turned away, anger clear on his face.

“Do we at least get to say goodbye?” Harry asked, a harsh edge in his voice.

“There is little of Miss Granger left for you to speak to, Harry,” Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “And I will not risk your life by letting you enter the room with her.”

“I could send my Patronus in,” Harry offered, desperate to explain to Hermione what was happening. She was like his sister and he was sitting in a room with people intent on killing her for something that wasn’t even her fault. “Please?”

Dumbledore shook his head, “I will not risk allowing you that close, Harry. I am sorry.”

Harry cursed and didn’t care that he was doing so in front of the Headmaster. If he could, he would hex the old man, but he didn’t dare. Even angry, Harry wasn’t quite that stupid… not anymore, not after losing Sirius.  

“When is it to be done?” Kingsley asked.

“Tomorrow,” Dumbledore said with absolute finality, effectively ending the meeting. The members solemnly stood and left, most without saying another word to Dumbledore or Harry. Molly hugged Harry in condolence and cried on her husband’s shoulder. The twins uncharacteristically had nothing clever to say before they left through the fire. When he turned away from the fireplace, the chairs were gone and only Remus, Sirius, Tonks and Dumbledore remained.

“Where’ve they gone?” Harry gestured to the spot where James and Lily had been standing.

“It does happen quickly, doesn’t it?” Sirius commented dryly. He felt the strain of the meeting tugging at him, too, and knew that he would have vanished as well if Hermione hadn’t cast her spell on him.

“They will return when they are ready,” Dumbledore said. “Harry, Sirius, it is time for you to return to your dormitory. Remus?”

“I’m going to stay and keep at it,” Lupin said. “Maybe I’ll find something.” He looked dead on his feet, but he sat and picked a scroll up to comb the translation. Sirius watched him work and wanted to stay and help, knowing that no sleep would be coming to him tonight. But once again, he felt the tug on his arm to pull him from where he wanted to be, and he was led from the office. 


	33. Dirty Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius saves the day in the most horrifying manner imaginable. 
> 
> This is where the mature rating kicks in.

Wanting nothing more than to dissipate into nothingness as his friend had, Sirius was forced to lie in bed staring up at the canopy. The others had gone to bed hours ago; he could hear Ron muttering in his sleep and recognized Seamus’s snores. Even Harry sounded as if he were sleeping, but Sirius couldn’t sleep, not knowing what was going to happen the next day, not knowing that Remus was forcing himself to stay awake in a desperate, last minute effort to find a remedy. How many nights had he spent scouring books for a cure to his lycanthropy? It had never yielded results, but Sirius still hoped he might find one now for Hermione.

With a silent curse, the boy rolled out of bed. He threw on his clothes, found James’s invisibility cloak and left the dorm. He considered going to visit Hermione in the dungeon, but knew he would be hexed by Snape or his own cousin for his efforts and opted to go straight to Remus. The gargoyle was thoroughly scandalized at being woken at such a late hour by a disembodied voice, but leapt aside all the same.

“Any luck?” Sirius asked, his voice making Remus jump nearly as effectively as the password had the gargoyle.

“Sirus? What the hell are you doing here?” Remus rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “You ought to be in bed.”

He could stop himself laughing. “As you have repeatedly pointed out, I’m not alive, so the rules don’t really apply.”

Remus shrugged, too tired to bother arguing the point with him. “I can’t find anything. The stories are essentially the same. There’s never any talk of a successful attempt to cure the girl.”

“Girl? I thought it was a boy,” Sirius peered over the tower of dictionaries Remus had amassed.

“In Voldemort’s copy, it’s a girl who raises the dead,” Remus said and began rattling off the basic events. “She is orphaned in war, resurrects her parents and begins to distance herself from the world, growing more evil as her life progresses. She marries and has children who continue her dark magic, marrying strategically to give their family the greatest power and prominence. It’s the same as the other books, only the gender is different.”

“Does that change the meaning?” Sirius asked.

“No. Not at all. She’s still evil and there is still no cure,” Remus groaned and rubbed his face with his ink-stained hands, his unshaved chin grating on his palms. “It’s no use.”

Sirius grasped his old friend by the arm and spun him around, forcing Remus to look him in the eye. Blue eyes met grey and Sirius was shocked at how tired and frightened his friend looked. His anger melted into desperation. “There has to be another way,” Sirius insisted, his voice nearly breaking in his effort to sound like anything but a plea for help.

Remus could only shake his head.

“Think, dammit!” Sirius growled. “You were always the brains!”

“You were just as smart as I was… when you wanted to be,” Remus chuckled softly, not realizing he was referring to his friend as if he were still dead.

“Clearly not if you’re the only one of us still properly alive and on the right side,” Sirius retorted bitterly. He didn’t know the exact circumstances of his death. He knew it had happened only recently and that it was unexpected and untimely. He had to have done something stupid, something characteristically ‘Sirius’ that resulted in his orphaning Harry for a second time.

“Read for yourself,” Remus dropped the scrolls in front of him. The stiff cylinders of parchment landing with a harsh slap on the table. Remus stared into his dead friend’s eyes and his voice was as bitter as Sirius’s had been, “And then you can tell me how clever I am, that I can’t find a way to save one girl’s life.”

“Moony!” Sirius shouted and grabbed his arm. His voice was demanding and accusing and pleading all at once.

“Damn it, Sirius, that isn’t my name anymore! I’m not a fucking teenager and this isn’t a god-damned game!” Remus hissed. “Hermione will die because I can’t find an answer.” He shoved Sirius back and left him alone in the dim and empty office.

Sirius had no place to go and no one to talk to that wouldn’t try to console him, so he did what Remus instructed. He sat down, opened a scroll and started reading Remus’s translation. The stories did nothing to aid his growing anxiety and nausea, as they told of how the girl began killing her friends and neighbors for no reason. Hermione wasn’t that far gone, at least. The stories took an odd turn, with the girl, now a woman, becoming betrothed to a man with a ‘righteous lance’. Remus had painstakingly recreated the book from Snape’s memory, complete with woodcut illustrations. The illustration showed a warrior standing tall and proud, looking more like Sirius Orion Black than anyone had a right to.

“Righteous lance?” Sirius scoffed.

“That’s how it translates,” Remus defended his work quietly. Sirius jumped at the sound of the man’s voice, scattering the scrolls. He hadn’t heard Remus come back. Lupin chose to ignore the hysterics and kept talking, “The word they used could mean ‘faithful’ or ‘trustworthy’ but the most common meaning taken is ‘righteous’. I gathered from the text that the man had once courted the girl but went off to war. The villagers thought that he would be able to cure her of the possession, so I take it he was a religious man as well as a warrior – hence ‘righteous lance’.”

“I guess it didn’t work, though,” Sirius muttered.

“Nope, she killed him before they married.”

Sirius gathered the scrolls he’d sent flying, reading each one again before depositing them back on the desk. “This poem still confuses me.”

“It’s a prophecy,” Remus said. He held up the replica of Voldemort’s book and pointed to the hand-written prophecy on the first page. “Apparently, Hermione was foreseen.” His tone implied what rubbish he thought that was.

Sirius snorted and reread the prophecy poem. “It’s different:

“‘What had been hidden will rise up again,  
Beware those who seek it for their own gain.  
Though the lines of wizard and witch are strong,  
A  _pure_  one will find it, not one who seeks wrong.  
The blood of the maiden must surely be spilled,  
For the source of evil to be truly killed;  
When words of nightmare and terror are spoken,  
And the wall between ghost and man is broken.’

“The other two read ‘a new one’ not ‘a pure one’.”

Remus nodded. “Whoever translated it from the Gothic to Middle English misunderstood the word. He took the meaning of the previous line about bloodlines to mean that it would be a Muggle-born witch or wizard – a new one.”

“So it’s about a pure-blood, so that’s not Hermione,” Sirius said happily.

“No, not pure-blood. It means pure of spirit, pure of mind or body,” Remus said. “That kind of purity, not blood.”

“Bugger.”

“Yeah,” Remus sighed.

Sirius muttered to himself darkly, cursing everything in sight for not being in the least bit helpful. His mood did not improve with the chiming of the clock and the arrival of a fully-dressed Albus Dumbledore. “Gentlemen,” the Headmaster said. He didn’t have the nerve to say ‘good morning’. The day was shaping up to be far from good. Sirius glared his anger at the Headmaster’s back, hoping he might somehow manage to catch the old wizard’s robes on fire with his silent rage.

“Kingsley will be here soon,” Remus informed him.

“Faithful lapdog,” Sirius spat. “It should’ve been someone who loves her.” He stopped as a vision of Hermione entered his mind. The night she had come to his room and stripped down to her underthings. ‘It has to be you,’ she had said. ‘You love me.’ He turned the pages to the woodcut of the warrior, the man who had courted her, and who presumably loved her. They thought he could cure her. “Righteous lance… You said it could also mean ‘faithful’ or ‘trustworthy’, didn’t you? Could that mean ‘loving’?”

“I suppose,” Lupin said. “Why?”

“And are you sure it was ‘lance’?” Sirius wasn’t looking at him. He was tearing through the scrolls searching for the one he needed.

“Well,” Remus said slowly. “All the options had phallic undertones, but lance is the most common meaning and fit given his warrior status. Why? What are you thinking?”

Sirius had a thought in his head, but didn’t quite like where it was taking him. He stole the scroll from Remus’s hands along with a few dictionaries and laid them on the floor to view them all simultaneously. It took him too much time to find each word he needed and lay them out together.

“What is it?” Remus asked, knowing his friend had a theory.

“Something I’m hoping is very wrong,” Sirius whispered, but he wouldn’t say it aloud. It was too disturbing, even for him. He studied the subtle meanings behind the words and assembled them into his own translation, with a different, though no less dark, meaning. He swallowed hard as Kingsley appeared in the fireplace, his face set in a determined mask.

“Gentlemen.” He nodded as grim a greeting as Dumbledore had. He marched like a man to the gallows as he left the office.

“Shit,” Sirius cursed and hurriedly finished his own translation. Professor Bayard had always loved his creative interpretation in Ancient Runes class. Using only the lesser and subtlety implied meanings of the runes, he could always create a translation unlike anyone else’s. He felt like those previous two years of Runes had all been practice for today.

Remus watched his friend’s theory take shape on the parchment before him. “Sirius,” he swallowed hard, “if you’re right, it might be better to just let Kingsley kill her.”

“Do you really think that?” Sirius snapped.

“No, I don’t, but—“ His mouth went slack and he fell to the floor as the Sirius’s hex hit him.

“But nothing! She doesn’t have to die,” Sirius insisted and sprinted from the room.

He was tired and his stomach was churning from the worry that he was too late and the disgust at what he was setting out to do. She would never forgive him, but at least she would live to hate him. He pushed through the crowd in the entrance hall. It was late enough for most of the students to be out of bed and on their way to breakfast. He didn’t bother to look if Dumbledore was sitting at the high table, twinkling at his students as if one of them wasn’t about to be executed on his order.

The stairs and corridors grew narrower as he ran; the steps became less worn with each level he descended. Few had ever come so far down in the castle, even the Marauders at their most daring never came this deep.  As he hit the final set of stairs, he heard voices – Kingsley and Dora. Neither sounded particularly pleased.

He slowed and made his footfalls silent on the solid stone steps. Hiding beneath James’s invisibility cloak and in the shadow at the end of the stairwell, he waited. There was no way he could lift the wards or unlock the door on his own, and he was certain neither of the Order members would assist him, not even his cousin, leaving the famously impatient Sirius Black to wait for them to open the door. He gripped his wand and fought to keep his foot from tapping out an anxious rhythm.

“What’s the plan?” he heard Dora ask, her voice sounded like she was fighting not to cry. Sirius looked around the corner and saw Kingsley holding a glass vial in his hand.

“A draught to calm her and then a potion to kill her,” he said, his deep voice showing no sign that he was affected by his mission. Sirius curled his fingers into white-knuckled fists, wishing so very hard that he could use them to beat the man into the ground.

Dora nodded, and Sirius could see her tears.

“You may leave,” Kingsley said, his voice soft for the first time Sirius had ever heard it. “You shouldn’t be a part of this.” She nodded and hurried away from the cell, her blurred vision making her even clumsier than normal. She bumped into the walls in her rush to escape and stumbled into Sirius’s arms.

“Wha—?” she began, but he silenced her with a nonverbal stunner, laying his cousin gently onto the steps just outside the other man’s view. Any noises Kingsley might have heard, he dismissed as Tonks tripping on the stairs.

The dignified Auror pulled himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and setting his face in a mask of indifference, determined to do his duty for the greater good of the wizarding world. He readied the vial in one hand and waved his wand with the other, removing the heavy beams reinforcing the door and clicking the locks open. Cracking the door a fraction and using it as a shield against her possible attack, he threw the vial in.

The glass shattered on the floor, releasing the calming draught and filling the cell with the befuddling vapors. The fumes invaded the girl’s nose and mouth and forced her to relax in the face of her assassin. She stumbled and tried to glare, but found it difficult to focus.

“I am sorry, Miss Granger,” Kingsley said and his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell hard to the floor outside the cell.

“So am I,” Sirius told him as he stepped over the man’s unconscious body to reach Hermione. “I don’t want to do this, I swear.”

“Kill you all,” Hermione threatened lazily and dug her nails into his arm.  He felt a pain in his chest and knew it was her trying to kill him with magic. The draught had dulled her mind to the point she could barely muster the strength to stand, let alone murder him.

Without knowing how long the draught would last, Sirius didn’t want to risk stopping to explain himself. He took a deep breath and hit himself with the spell Peter had once used as a joke on half the Hufflepuff Quidditch team before their final game against Ravenclaw. It had given all the boys erections so persistent and painful they had to postpone the match for hours. It worked the charm; despite the sickness threatening his stomach, he felt the sharp and urgent need in his groin.

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded and pulled at Hermione’s clothes even as she tore at his face and arms with her nails. “So sorry,” he kept saying, begging her forgiveness even before he really touched her. His pleas only increased when he moved himself into her, thrusting hard and fast to tear through her virginity as he tore a scream, deep and guttural from her throat.

A moment and a moan passed before he realized that he was still thrusting into her, reveling in her warmth. “Shit,” he cursed and threw himself away from her, pulling his school robe closed to hide his shame before he ran from the cell. His stomach wrench and he fell to the floor, vomiting what little he had managed to eat that morning.

“Sirius?” her voice echoed in the cell, sounding so sweet and lost, and bringing a new wave of sickness to him. His stomach was empty, but he still retched painfully, gripping the wall for support. Even as he heaved, he ran, practically falling up the stairs in his eagerness to escape. He ran from the sight of Kingsley and Tonks, evaded Remus’s inquiries and the looks of concern and amusement on the students’ faces as he raced past. He ran until he found his bed in the empty boys’ dorm of the Gryffindor tower, and hid behind the heavy scarlet curtains.

He wished with all his heart that Hermione hadn’t cast that spell on him.

More than anything, he wanted to stop being, to vanish from sight. No one should have to look at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to go on record as saying that rape is bad (read: WORST THING EVERY) and that, despite appearances, I really do love Sirius.


	34. Selfless

“Sirius?”

He heard the voice from the cell. The heavy, reinforced door hung open and Kingsley lay on the floor outside, Remus could see a bruise forming where his head hit the stones. Tonks was lying at his feet, her body had been placed gently on the steps. Remus brushed the lifeless brown hair from her eyes and saw that no bruise marred her face. He continued to the cell, his wand ready to defend himself. Keeping as much of him body behind the charmed door for protection, he looked around it and into the cell where he saw Hermione struggling to stand, her clothes askew and a thin stream of blood running down her bare legs.

“Remus?” she asked lazily, the draught still dulling her mind. “I saw Sirius.”

“I saw him, too,” Remus said, still keeping his wand ready. “What happened?”

“He ran away,” she said, tears filling her eyes and her chin began to quiver. She staggered forward to fling herself at him. Her hands fisted the lapels of his jacket and she cried. Still holding his wand, he hugged her and let her cry. If this was a ploy, it was certainly effective.

Hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor and stopped just outside the cell. “Remus,” Dumbledore came forward, his eyes sharp and his frown set. “What have you done?”

“It was Sirius,” Remus said. “He thought he could save her.”

“Release her,” the old wizard ordered, his voice harder than Remus had ever heard it. Remus did as he was told but it took some time to pull Hermione’s hands from his jacket. The girl sunk to the floor and continued to cry when he stepped away. Even as Dumbledore held his wand steady with her chest and kept the curse on the tip of his tongue, she cried. “My dear Miss Granger,” he said softly, “we have missed you.”

The wand moved from his hand to his sleeve in the blink of an eye and he collected the fragile girl into his embrace. “A visit to Madam Pomfrey is in order, I think.”

“Where’s Sirius?” she asked through her watery sniffles.

“We will find him,” Dumbledore assured her as they made their way up the stairs.

She was asleep as soon as Madam Pomfrey ladled the Dreamless Sleep into her mouth. The nurse thoroughly disapproved of the state of the girl; she was filthy with decades of dust and dirt from the cell floor; her hands were bruised from beating on the door, her nails bloody from clawing at Sirius and her legs still held the signs of having been assaulted. Cleaning charms took care of it all, but not without several harsh questions directed at the Headmaster.

“He always was one for rash actions,” Dumbledore shook his head, remembering the teenager and man Sirius had been.

“I tried to stop him, but he Stupefied me,” Remus said.

“His actions saved a life,” replied the old man, “though they may have damned his own. Courageous to the point of recklessness, that is a Gryffindor, is it not?” His voice was sad even through the jest. “Let her rest.”

Madam Pomfrey fussed over the sleeping girl for a few more minutes before she had to tend to her other patients, leaving Hermione to sleep undisturbed.

oOo

James slumped onto his bed as he turned his eyes to the clock. It was noon; at least one full night and morning had passed since he watched the adults agree to murder Hermione. He didn’t remember leaving the room and assumed he had vanished again like he did after the detention. Somehow he thought he ought to return feeling well-rested or at least less ill, but his stomach still turned at the idea of his new friend being killed.

“This place is fucking rubbish,” he muttered to himself.

“I know,” Sirius replied from behind the curtains of his bed. “We don’t belong here, do we?”

“Did they…?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius said and James knew he was crying. “I tried to save her, but I don’t know if it was too late.” He wiped his face of tears but kept his curtains closed. He didn’t want anyone to have to look at him. “I don’t like it here.”

“Neither do I,” James admitted. “I thought it was just a laugh and that it wasn’t any different… but it’s completely different. Harry… he’s better than me. Dumbles is just frightening. He didn’t even try to protect her. He’s supposed to protect his students, and he told them to fucking murder her. He  _ordered_  them to.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Sirius whispered. He wished the spell would leave him, let him vanish so he wouldn’t feel anything anymore, so no one would have to look at him after what he had done. He was as bad as the rest of them, the ancient and noble Blacks, the twisted and sadistic pure-bloods he was forced to call family. His actions had proved he was a Black after all. He didn’t deserve a second chance at life.

“James?” Lily called through the door, knocking softly. “Are you back?”

“Yeah. Come in.”

She opened the door and he saw she looked as tired as he felt. The shadows under her eyes a deep purple and her skin paler than usual. “Is Hermione… dead?”

“We don’t know,” James gestured helplessly. They all fell silent, lost in their individual despondent thoughts. It took some time for James to work up the nerve to ask the question he was asking himself, “Lily, are you happy here?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“You should go talk to Dumbledore and Remus,” Sirius suggested, his voice thick. “Maybe now that they don’t have to worry about her or Voldemort, they can find a way to send us back where we belong.”

Lily noticed that Sirius still hadn’t come out from his hiding place. It wasn’t like him at all, and he sounded downright depressed. It was unnatural. “Are you alright, Sirius?”

He laughed. It wasn’t his usual loud, bark of laughter that made everyone sad they weren’t in on the joke. This laugh made her feel like he was the joke. It was a laugh heavy with self-loathing. “Not even close. Just go; I want to be alone.”

Lilly nodded and gestured for James to follow. Normally his heart would have leapt at the sight of his dream girl waving him closer, but it had no effect on him today. He was as downtrodden as Sirius and not even Lily Evans could make him smile today. They walked silently out from the tower toward the Headmaster’s office, praying that something had happened to make it all better in the few hours they had been gone.

The gargoyle leapt aside for them and they climbed the stairs. Dumbledore’s office, once so eccentric and welcoming, felt strangely sinister after the Order meeting they had witnessed. Remus was there, calmly packing up his books. He didn’t look pleased. “How’s Sirius?”

“Depressed,” James said. “Is it over?”

“We think so,” he nodded slowly.

“You think so?” Lily said, growing angry. “Either she’d dead or she’s not. How can you not know?”

Remus laid a hand on her shoulder to calm her growing rage. “Hermione isn’t dead. We think she’s herself again, but she’s still asleep. It will take some time to know for certain.”

“What happened?”

“Sirius happened,” Remus smiled sadly. Lily watched his scarred face, trying to understand why he would look so unhappy if his friend had saved Hermione. Remus had never been selfish, so she couldn’t imagine him being resentful that Sirius had saved her when he couldn’t. There was something else, but she didn’t understand. “Was there something else you wanted to know?”

The girl nodded, “Yes. Can you send us back?”

“Back?”

“To being properly dead,” she clarified and then sighed as she admitted the truth she had always felt but hated to believe, “We don’t belong here. You know that.”

He nodded in agreement and understanding. “I know. Might be difficult convincing Sirius that, though.”

“He wanted us to come and find out. Something’s wrong with him, Moony,” James crumpled into a chair. “What happened?”

Remus leaned back onto his desk, now mostly empty. If Sirius hadn’t told his best friend what he had to do to save Hermione, then he didn’t think he had a right to share. James was watching him closely, studying the slight shifts that crossed his face. He narrowed his hazel eyes and pointed an accusing finger at the werewolf, “I know you know.”

“I do,” Remus confessed, “but it’s not for me to say.”

“How did he save her?” Lily asked.

“Not easily,” Remus commented. “He made himself the bastard and wishes he were dead now.”

James nodded, still not getting it.

“James, Lily,” Dumbledore greeted them with more warmth than he had the previous evening.

“Professor,” Lily hurried over. “Is Hermione normal again?”

“We believe so,” he nodded. “She is awake and showing no signs of lingering darkness. It will take some time for her to come to grips with what she has done, however.”

“And Sirius?”

“I do not envy his position,” Dumbledore said simply. “Lunch has finished, but if you wish, we could summon something to your rooms.” He offered politely, but it didn’t fool either of them; he wanted them to go away.

“There’s something else, Professor,” James said, calling on his authoritative Quidditch Captain voice. “Have you found a way to send us back?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I believe Severus found a potion, though he has been reluctant to share that information for fear of losing you again, Lily.”

“Git,” James muttered. He flinched at the glare Remus and Lily sent him, “Sorry, habit.”

Dumbledore’s eye twinkled, but he said nothing.

“How long will it take to brew?” Lily asked.

“It is ready now. If you wish, you could leave this moment, but I suspect you will have some goodbyes to make.”

Lily paused. She had been so selfish, the fact that they would be leaving Harry hadn’t even occurred to her. The idea of orphaning him again pained her, but she knew she wasn’t his mother. Genetically, yes, but she was only sixteen and she wasn’t ready to be the parent he needed. She hadn’t been there to tuck him in and sing him to sleep. A glance at James showed her he was thinking the same thing. He was no more capable of being the boy’s father than she was his mother. They had slept through sixteen years of his life and woken up to find a boy more mature than either of them.

“Let’s go talk to Harry,” James said and opened the door for her. She walked toward him numbly, trying to imagine how she would explain their decision to Harry. She didn’t even know where to find him.

“Hospital wing,” Remus suggested through the open door. “I’d try the hospital wing first.”

Her brow furrowed at the realization that Remus Lupin, a man with no blood connection to her boy, knew him better than she ever could. “Thank you,” she said and started down the stairs.

“It’s enough to drive you to drink, isn’t it? That they all know him so well, know what he’s been through,” James commented. “Makes me feel inferior, personally.”

Lily laughed. “It’s about time something did.”

“Oi!” he protested.

“But I know what you mean,” she sighed. “We really don’t belong. I hope he understands.” She worried away the rest of their walk, while James tried to hide the grin that they were together and getting along. If their whole life could be spent this amiably, then he might reconsider his decision to leave.

“Look,” Lily whispered and pointed through the open hospital wing door. Hermione was sitting up in bed surrounded by the small cluster of intimate friends that included Harry, Ron and Ginny along with Neville and a slightly dazed-looking blond girl. They looked more tightly-knit than even the Marauders. How many of them had stood by Harry in his fight, James wondered, and how many of them knew more about him that he ever hoped to.

“Are you coming in or what?” Ron called.

Lily smiled to see everyone looking so happy again. “How are you, Hermione?”

“Much better,” she said. She was positively glowing; her smile was full and genuine and reached her warm eyes. “But have you seen Sirius?”

“No,” James lied smoothly. It was sort of true; he hadn’t actually seen him when they talked in the boys’ dorm. 

“Oh,” she said, her smile falling a bit. “Well, if you do, remind him that he owes me a second date.” She grinned again. There was nothing about her to indicate that Sirius had done anything horrific, certainly nothing that would have him so willingly embracing oblivion. James didn’t understand.

“What did Sirius do?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Moony and Dumbledore said he saved you, but won’t say how.”

He watched the blush consume her face even as she ducked her head. “I’d rather not say,” she muttered sheepishly.

“Another one!” James grumbled and threw his hands up. “Why can’t I get any real answers?” He dropped onto the bed beside hers, watching as she recovered from the embarrassment and went back to chatting with her friends. She started asking about schoolwork, and grew pale and horrified to hear that she had slipped to average in the class ranking.

“Bring me my books! Now!” she shoved Ginny and Neville toward the door. “What were we learning about in Transfiguration?”

“Uh, I’m gonna go help Ginny find your books,” Ron said and hurried away before she could start quizzing him.

“I’m pleased you aren’t trying to kill everyone anymore,” the blond said and wandered off with a slightly vacant look on her face.

“Luna,” Harry said as if it explained everything.

Lily waited until the door had closed behind the strange young Ravenclaw before speaking the curiosity that had been burning in her for some time. “Hermione, I know you don’t want to tell us how you get well again, but do you know what it was…. I mean, what was in the book?”

Hermione’s eyes seemed to sparkle, not with delight or excitement as Dumbledore’s did, but with tears. Just mentioning the book forced her to relive the things she had done and it was not something she wanted to do. She had threatened her friends, nearly killed another student, attempted to kill Sirius. But even as she fought back the tears and memories, she nodded.

“You didn’t say that before,” Harry edged closer. “What was it?”

“Magic. Undiluted magic,” she said, her voice low as if afraid that just saying it would make it come back. “I could hear it in my head, like a chant. Old voices summoning it from the darkness, collecting it and storing it. I could hear that girl, the one from the stories calling on it to bring back her parents and then hear her madness afterward.” She wiped away the tears that trailed down her cheeks, “I think her parents had been its keepers, sort of like Madam Pince guards the Restricted Section, that family guarded the magic, keeping it safely locked away.”

“Pandora’s box, then?” Lily suggested.

“Very much like it, yes,” Hermione agreed. “They locked away the evil magic, but it didn’t want to stay hidden. It sang out to her, sang to her in her grief that it could give her back her parents. She brought them back out of selfishness and it took over.”

She shook back the worry and spoke again with something very close to scholarly interest in her voice, “If I remember correctly, it was diluted and passed down with each generation until it was so weakened that it was practically useless. Wars finally killed off the last of the girl’s descendants a thousand years ago and the power was stuck in the enchanted words again.”

“Blimey,” James muttered, running a hand absently through his hair to make it stand on end.

They were silent a moment, each considering their own thoughts. James and Lily were still working up the courage to broach the subject of their planned deaths.

“So, why are you here?” Harry asked bluntly.

James winced at being so transparent. It had taken Sirius nearly two years to be able to interpret his moods this effectively. “We wanted to talk to you. Uh… Harry… We…” He took a deep breath and looked at his son’s green eyes and couldn’t find the words.

“We’ve come to a decision,” Lily said for him. She was looking at her feet and not Harry’s open and honest eyes, which probably helped her nerves considerably. “Sev thinks he’s found the potion to send us back where we should be.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?” James asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, absently smoothing his hair down. Lily smiled at the habit which was the exact opposite of his father’s; James messed his hair up when he didn’t know what else to say or do, Harry tried to make his lie flat. The results were identical, regardless. “I was getting used to you being here.”

“If you want us to stay, we will, Harry,” Lily offered and moved to sit beside him. “But I can’t be your mum. I can only be your friend.” James nodded his agreement. He played at it, but he didn’t really feel like a father.

James watched as Harry sat silently on the bed. His face was pulled down in a level of concentration James was sure he had never reached. It galled him again that his son was so much more selfless than he was. James was sure if the situation were reversed he would have demanded his parents stay without considering the consequences or their feelings in the matter.

“Well?” James asked, impatiently.

“I’m thinking,” Harry said. He was running through his life with his parents in it. Odd as it had been, having them there was fun.  But he hadn’t felt close to them, felt that rush of love and belonging that he had felt when he looked into the Mirror of Erised. As Lily had said, they were friends, not parents. “I can’t make you stay.”


	35. The Long Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius is angsty.

No, this wasn't awkward at all, Harry thought as he watched his teenage mother hugging his most hated professor. It would have been weird if Snape initiated the embrace, but it was somehow weirder that Lily had.

"Remember, Sev," she warned. "You promised to stop picking on Harry."

The menacing Defence teacher nodded like a scolded child.

"Can you get that in writing?" Harry asked, getting a stern look from the pair of them for his suggestion. "That didn't last long."

"For you, my son," James announced in a loud and grand voice. He bowed and held aloft a notebook as if it were Godric Gryffindor's sword. Harry looked at him as if he had lost his brains between the tower and the Headmaster's office, but took the book all the same. It was just a regular parchment-filled notebook, like any he used since starting Hogwarts. He didn't see what was worth the pomp, until he opened it.

"Your Quidditch plays?" Harry gasped. "Brilliant! Thanks!" He hugged the notebook to his chest.

"I watched you at Tryouts," said James. "You need all the help you can get."

"Oi!"

"Kidding!" James insisted and pulled him into a one-armed hug. It really was like having a friend instead of a father. "Okay, let's get this over with before we start turning all soppy."

"Let's just get this over with," Sirius said. He was the one dark cloud to the parting. Snape was the picture of felicity and light next to the dismal Sirius Black. It was the first time anyone besides Remus had seen him since the Order meeting. He had spent all his time hiding in his bed or in the shower scrubbing his skin raw, trying to wash away the curse that was his heritage and the spell that kept him solid.

"Bye, Sirius," Harry said and hugged him whether he liked it or not.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"The potion," Snape offered. They each took a goblet from the desk. Even with his desire to leave, Sirius sniffed the liquid and eyed the potioneer cautiously. Snape simply smirked at him as he left the Headmaster's office.

"Still a git," Sirius muttered and downed the liquid without it touching his tongue. He stood waiting for the others to drink.

Lily braced herself and drank the potion, cringing at the bitterness of it. James followed. They all stood silently, waiting and watching one another, not daring to breathe. After a long minute ticked past, James broke the silence. "How long is this supposed to take?"

"This is all unprecedented," Dumbledore admitted, his eyes twinkling with the scholarly pursuit of the unknown.

"Since we've nothing else to do… I'll take this time to tell you stories about Moony," James smiled wickedly at the man leaning against the wall. He cleared his throat and began in a tone reminiscent of the pompous Horace Slughorn, "In our third year, Moony decided he was in love with AJ Solorio. Sadly, the girl had no idea he existed. To remedy this Sirius and I felt it a good plan to shove him naked into the Great Hall. AJ was more than aware of him after that, believe you me."

Harry flushed in embarrassment at the thought of having that done to him. What if Fred and George Weasley had tried that when he had a crush on Cho Chang? Moony, some twenty years removed from the incident, wasn't particularly bothered by it. Instead he smirked at his friend, "While we're in storytelling mode, perhaps I ought to tell Harry about Danielle Hodgekiss?"

James paled and leapt from his perch on the arm of Harry's chair. "No!"

"Second year," Remus smiled and ducked as James tried to silence him. "Danielle Hodgekiss walked boldly into the common room and kissed your father."

"What's so bad about that?" Harry asked.

"He ran away," Remus grinned devilishly. "Ran screaming through the common room like a frightened little girl with pigtails and a pink frilly dress." Harry snorted at the assessment. "He ran up the stairs to the boys' washroom where he brushed his teeth eighteen times in a row. The poor girl was traumatized."

"I was traumatized," James grumbled.

"And then there's The Niffler Incident," Sirius suggested, his mood lifted slightly.

"Oh, I forgot about that," Remus agreed with an evil gleam in his eye.

"No!" James shouted and clamped his hands over Harry's ears so tight the boy saw stars. "You will not tell him about that. That never happened and I will maintain that as truth until the day I d—"

The painful pressure on Harry's head stopped. He looked around to where James had been and saw nothing but empty air where half-a-second before there had been a living, breathing, solid boy.

He was gone.

"That was abrupt," Remus said, sadness tingeing his voice. His gaze went to where Lily had been standing with sparkling eyes and an enormous grin as she tried not to laugh at James's foolishness. She was gone, too.

"Shit."

Their eyes fell to the black-haired boy leaning on the arm of a chair. He let himself fall into it, all energy and humor lost. "Don't tell me that her spell will keep the potion from working, too," Sirius begged quietly, his voice breaking with his desperation. "Please, don't tell me."

"Okay, I won't tell you," Harry said. He reached out a cautious finger and prodded the boy's shoulder. "You're still solid, though."

"Shit," Sirius said again, even more dejected.

Remus scratched his rough, unshaved chin and considered what options they might have left. They tried removing the spell, but it clearly hadn't worked. He opened his mouth to offer a suggestion, but his words were lost.

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK!" a very angry voice rang from the stairs.

"Damn it!" the boy cursed and scrambled to hide behind Remus as Hermione stomped into the Headmaster's office.

"Hermione, what's the matter?" Harry asked.

She glared at him, her eyes so hard that he thought the evil have taken over again, but her voice was shaking, "What's the matter? I wake up and find this note, that's what's the matter. 'Dear Hermione, I'm sorry I had to do this through a note, but I couldn't let you look at me again. I'm going to take the potion with James and Lily. I can't stand being here knowing what I did. Goodbye, Sirius Orion Black'." She threw the note on the floor, ground it into the stone with her shoe and set it alight with her wand. "Since when do you call yourself by your full name with me?"

"Since I hurt you," Sirius muttered, still behind Remus, though now he was using the man as a shield instead of a hiding place.

"I think I ought to go," Lupin said casually. "Harry, care to see me out?" He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him to the door. The boy considered staying, but thought better of it. Judging by the scratches still covering Sirius's face and his deep desire to die, he assumed that whatever they were about to say might change his opinion of his Godfather. He hurried to follow Remus down the stairs before the shouting started.

"Hurt me?" she repeated incredulously, completely unaware that Remus had spoken. "You saved me."

"Don't," he warned. "Don't try to make it all right." His gut twisted to be in the same room with her; as it was, he had to turn into the wall, burying his head in his palms to keep from seeing her. If he had been able to eat anything at all over the last day, he would be vomiting it up now. She softened, stepping closer and putting her hand to his back. "Don't touch me!" he spat.

"I deserve that," she sighed. "I was awful to you."

He turned on her as his anger overrode his self-loathing, "Are you insane? What did you do that deserved what I did?"

"You saved me," she insisted, stubbornly, gently.

"I raped you!"

She took an instinctive step back from his anger, but refused to back down. "No, you didn't."

He laughed the laugh of a man losing his mind. His shoulders slumped and he fell against the wall. "Hermione, I had sex with you when you didn't want me to. What would you call it?"

" _It_  didn't want you to. It knew that that was the only way to release me," she said. "It pushed you away. It made me kiss Malfoy and would have made me have sex with him so I'd lose my virginity to someone who hated me." She shuddered at the very idea. "I wanted you to. Remember? I came to you."

He nodded but kept his eyes on the floor. He worried Harry was listening, knew that no one had told him what he had done to save her. He was thankful Lily and James were gone. What would they have thought of him? He was waiting for the blows to come, for Harry to rain down vengeance for his actions, but nothing came.

"No, I had no right."

"Dammit!" she smacked him hard across the face. "You are just stupid!"

"Excuse me?" he said, too shocked to keep quiet and allow her to hit him as he knew he deserved.

She glared at him and smacked him again. "You are stupid! I thought that I was saved that night. I thought that if I came to you, you'd sleep with me and it would go away. But no! You are stupid and noble and moral and perfect and you wouldn't touch me because 'oh, you aren't yourself'." She smacked him again.

He bit back the complaint as she slapped him with every ounce of anger she could muster. "You  _weren't_  yourself!"

"I was!" she insisted and slapped him again. "I came to you for help and you pushed me away! If I had gone to any other bloke he would have slept with me no problem, but, oh, no, not you!"

He pushed off the wall and grabbed her hand before she could slap him again. "Then why didn't you go to any other bloke."

"Because it had to be someone who loved me," she spat. "I saw in it your eyes. It had to be you."

"I'm not the only one who loves you," Sirius growled.

"Yes, you are. Ron only likes me; he doesn't love me," she said. "Harry does, but not like that; he would never… It had to be you. That's why it worked. That's why I'm normal again, because you love me."

He threw her hand away. "That still doesn't make it right."

"Oh!" she stomped her foot and turned away from him. She had been so sure it would work out if she explained the truth to him, but he was being stubbornly moral again. He muttered to himself again that it wasn't right, and she snapped.

"Avis! Oppungo!" she shouted and pointed her wand at him, a flock of birds shooting from the tip. The birds surrounded him and pecked at him mercilessly. He didn't bother fighting them off, knowing he had earned it. Hermione watched him succumb to the attack and threw her hands up. "I give up!" She waved her wand, vanishing the birds, and marched from the office.

"Ow," he said weakly and fell to the floor.

Sirius glanced over at Dumbledore, who was sitting as if petrified, behind his desk. The Headmaster had been looking skyward, apparently oblivious to all that had just occurred before him, but as Sirius watched, the old man turned his twinkling eyes down and met the boy's. "We all understand, though it is difficult. We love Miss Granger as a student, child or sister. As drastic as your actions were, we understand it was to save her."

"This decade is very odd," Sirius said and let his head fall back against the wall with a hard and painful 'thud'. If he couldn't kill himself magically, maybe there were more traditional, manual methods to fall back on.

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed with a private chuckle.

The boy sat there bleeding for some time, Dumbledore made no move to heal him and he was thankful for it. "Why can't she just call me a bastard and let me go? What I did was unforgiveable."

Dumbledore sighed, "Perhaps for the same reason that you would not let her go when even Harry thought her lost – Love."

Sirius stared at him. The old man's eyes glittered with the idea of love saving everyone from everything, and it made Sirius angry. "Fucking nonsense."

"No, I don't think it is," the Headmaster disagreed with a shake of his head. "For love, you tainted yourself to save her. But why did she need saving?"

"She was evil," the boy replied flatly.

"Why?" Dumbledore insisted. "She was not possessed after she brought you back, nor when she accidentally attacked Miss Parkinson. She became so only after she made you permanently solid."

"So?"

"So why did she cast that spell, Mr Black?" he prodded as only a teacher could. "Think."

"Because she didn't want me to disappear on her again," Sirius said, remembering their date. Dumbledore gestured for him to continue. "She had missed me." Again the old man waved for him to go on. "She didn't cast the spell on Lily or James after they'd gone, only on me. She missed me, was lonely without me but not without them. I wasn't just another friend, but that's stupid. We hadn't even gone on our date yet. She couldn't –" He stopped himself before he said his thought out loud.

"Couldn't what, Mr Black?" Dumbledore asked. Sirius just shook his head, refusing to say it aloud. "Couldn't love you?" He smiled. "I think you'll find that Miss Granger is unique among her age and sex. She is certainly more clever than I was at her age, and that is saying something. And she knows her heart, which is more than I can say even now."

"No," Sirius insisted, resisting only on principle.

"Why not? You love her. You said so yourself," Dumbledore narrowed his gaze until it pierced the boy. "What makes you so special that you feel love where no one else can?" he asked coldly. "I thought you better than such elitism, Mr Black."

"Fine," Sirius growled. "She loves me. I love her. But that doesn't make it alright. I still don't deserve her after what I did. Can you please just figure out how to kill me?"

"As you wish, Mr Black," Dumbledore sighed and lifted his wand.


	36. That Same Old Feeling

Hermione glared at Harry and sat down at the far end of the Gryffindor table. He had been irritatingly consoling and understanding since she and Sirius had shouted at each other. As annoying as he was being, she was grateful he hadn't heard their whole argument or tried prying to find out what Sirius had done. She imagined him bringing Sirius back from the dead just to kill him slowly. His protectiveness made her smile even as it pained her.

Sighing, she started picking at her toast. According to Remus, Lily and James were gone, so she knew Sirius was gone now, too. Even if she couldn't talk him out of going back, she had at least hoped to mend the rift that had grown from her possession.

"Boys are so stupid," she muttered and ripped the toast apart for lack of appetite and anything more productive to do.

"Is this seat taken?"

Hermione clenched her eyes shut. Her mind was playing sick jokes on her; those were the exact words he had used when they first met. She cursed her brain for not letting go. "Yes," she said rudely.

"Too bad," the boy said and sat down beside her. She could actually hear the cocky grin, feel the warmth of the body that she knew couldn't be there, feel the weight of his arm around her shoulder.

"Excuse me!" she said and snapped her eyes open to glare at the boy. Her mouth fell open at the sight of the warm grey eyes and long black hair, the sexy grin and broad shoulders. "Sirius?"

He grinned. "So, about that second date... You've been putting it off for far too long."

Words failed her as her brain ground to a halt trying to process the sight and feel of him. He shouldn't be there. He was supposed to have taken the potion and gone with Lily and James. Her eyes darted to the Gryffindors around her; none of them were looking at her like she was mad, so she apparently wasn't carrying on a one-sided conversation with an empty seat.

"I thought that after what you did…" she said weakly.

"I told you," he said, the smirk belying his sincerity. "There's no limit to the dirty things I would do to save you and your honor. If I have to get myself more detentions for you, I will. Especially if it means pranking old Snivellus."

"Detentions?" she repeated slowly, her mind quickly whirring to life as she started to understand. "When did you last see me, Sirius?"

He considered the question. "I've been in hospital since Saturday… so Friday evening."

"Hospital?" She looked at him curiously and studied his face. His skin was still marred from where the birds had attacked him, the peck marks disguised where she had clawed him with her nails. Had that really only been the previous afternoon?

He nodded. "Nasty hex, but, on the bright side, I did have very vivid dreams about saving you. Then I woke up and found you back to your beautiful," he kissed her cheek, "brilliant," the corner of her mouth, "lovely self," her lips. "I like to think I had something to do with it."

"I know you did," she smiled.

The boy frowned and a bit of the gleam left his eye. "I should apologize. Apparently, I'm quite the disgusting bastard in my dreams."

"I forgive you," she said, a knowing smile pulling at her mouth and relief filling her. "They were only dreams, and it was to save me, right?"

"Anything to save you," he insisted, pulling her so close she was nearly on his lap. "Back to my original question – are you free Saturday for another date?"

"Yes, I believe I am," she smiled. "Oh, but I'm still not allowed into Hogsmeade." She frowned slightly at the restriction. It was ridiculous to punish her for something that had clearly not been her fault. Yet Professor McGonagall insisted that the punishment stand since so few knew the real reason behind her attack on Pansy.

Sirius brushed the creases from her forehead. "Love, we've a whole castle at our disposal. What do we need Hogsmeade for?" He smirked, "In fact, I would say having the castle to ourselves when all the others are in the village would be quite the advantage…"

"I think those dreams have gone to your head, sir," she turned her face away to hide her smile.

"Oi! You two, class!" Seamus slapped them on the head as he passed, Sirius a little more vigorously than Hermione, grinning madly and running from the Great Hall as Sirius jumped up to retaliate. Hermione was left to grab a few slices of toast and walk alone to Defence.

"Am I going mad or was that Sirius?" Harry asked.

The smile on her face told him the answer, but he still wanted to hear it. "You're not going mad."

"Snape isn't going to be happy," he commented dryly.

"Ah, Mini-Marauder," Sirius beamed at Harry as he held Seamus in a headlock. "Give us a hand. This one's small, but he's wiry."

"Just let him go," Harry shook his head.

"Never! He attacked my lady and she must be avenged!" He turned his attention back to the struggling Seamus, bringing out his wand and hitting the boy with a jinx that left him laughing so hard he turned red and his eyes started watering. Sirius stood back and let the boy laugh hysterically outside the Defence classroom.

Harry gaped in disbelief. "What did you do to him, Hermione?"

The girl shrugged and enjoyed the sight of everyone being happy for the first time in months. Not even the Slytherins could hold back some chuckles at the spectacle Seamus was making of himself. Malfoy stood well back and didn't dare sneer at anyone, least of all Hermione.

The classroom door slammed open, Snape glaring out at them in cold anger. Only Seamus continued to laugh. He wished desperately to stop but the jinx wouldn't allow him to. The professor waved his wand, silencing the boy. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Get in."

"Good morning, Professor," Sirius smiled as he entered. Snape's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed at the boy.

"You should have left with the others," he said in a low voice.

"It seems I couldn't, Professor," Sirius grinned. "A very clever witch cast a spell on me… in more ways than one. That was a play on words. See, she—"

"Thank you, Mr Porter. Now get to your seat." Snape said. Harry noticed something in his voice, a particular tone he had come to recognize after years of having it directed his way. That was Snape's 'I have a surprise for you' tone and was only used in conjunction with something very nasty.

Despite outward appearances, the professor was quite pleased that Sirius was still among them. He had every intention of honoring his promise to Lily; he would treat Harry only as harshly as he did any other Gryffindor, which was still rather worse than Lily would have liked. Instead, he directed his malice toward Sirius. As the weeks passed, the other Sirius received longer essay assignments, lost more points and was given more detentions, most of them unwarranted. He did earn the one for charming Snape's door to insult all Slytherins and the one for jinxing Snape's chalk to write only swear words and the one for fixing Snape's desk to the ceiling, but all the others were completely uncalled for.

Sirius took to life without James with minimal difficulty since Seamus and Harry had enough cheek and mischievous tendencies to pass for Mini-Marauders. Ron was summarily dismissed without consideration; Neville had a two week grace period, but was caught on his three attempts to reach the kitchens. Instead Ginny was given status as the fourth Marauder for the simple fact that she was the only one in the whole Gryffindor tower other than Hermione capable of getting him to shut up... though the girl's methods differed considerably from Hermione's.

"Have you read the Prophet?" Seamus asked one morning shortly before Christmas holidays.

"No, why?" Ron asked, his mouth half-filled with bacon. He received a dirty look from Hermione and a slap on the head from Sirius for it.

"Half a dozen Death Eaters have turned themselves in," he said and pushed the paper in front of Harry. "That's got to make a full twenty that have abandoned You-Know-Who. He'll be easy pickings for you, eh, Chosen One?"

"Oh, shut it," Harry threw a roll at him and quickly scanned the article. He was right. Another six Death Eaters confessed to the Ministry and named their comrades in exchange for leniency and safety from the weakening wizard's wrath. The Malfoys had been the first to switch sides, Draco and his mother named every Death Eater of their acquaintance in order to get Lucius out of Azkaban.

"I guess without his Horcruxes, they don't think he's worth following anymore," Hermione commented quietly.

"Or maybe because he got his arse handed to him by a Muggle-born," Harry offered, making her blush. She didn't like to talk about what she had done while under the book's influence, even though it had changed everything for their side. Voldemort was never as vulnerable or alone as he was now and it was all because of her.

A late owl flew into the Great Hall, flapping excitedly around their heads before dropping onto the table in front of Sirius and Harry. "Pig," Ron grunted while Harry took the letter from the twittering little owl.

"It's from Remus," Harry smiled.

"What does Moony have to say for himself?" Sirius asked and leaned over to read the letter.

"Wants us to come to Grimmauld Place for Christmas," Harry said. "You and me, says Hermione is welcome, too, and that Ron's parents will bring him and Ginny later."

Sirius slumped in his seat. "Do I have to? I hate that place. I told you about the stuffed elf heads on the wall, right?"

"Yes, I've seen them for myself, but I've never had anywhere to go for Christmas," Harry said. "You can stay if you want, but I'm going."

Sirius grumbled and cursed the house and his family and Remus for making him go. He kept at it for the rest of the week and on the walk to Hogsmeade Station and for half the train ride to London until Hermione demonstrated a highly effective way of shutting his mouth. As they pushed their way off the train, his mood darkened again. Not even Molly Weasley's coddling could lure a smile.

"Oh, Sirius, dear," Molly hugged him. "So glad you're still with us." He just nodded glumly and followed along. "The house is so much nicer than when you last saw it, Harry."

"Much easier now that Kreacher isn't thwarting us at every turn," Arthur agreed. He gestured them to the waiting car, which somehow managed to fit both Weasley parents, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Sirius and their trunks. Harry was nothing but grins. He had never been away from school for the holidays without a threat hanging over him. They drove in silence, out of London; apparently, a ploy to keep any spies from knowing where Harry was really travelling. The Ministry driver and the Auror in the front seat still on high alert despite Voldemort's dwindling forces. They arrived at the Burrow after a time and were accosted by the rest of the Weasleys. Even Sirius managed to lighten as Fred and George showed off their latest inventions.

"Brilliant!" Sirius grinned.

"Did you hear that?" The twins swooned.

"Come along, Harry, Sirius," Arthur called. "Remus is waiting." Harry noticed the man's face. It was happy and slightly mischievous like he was keeping a secret and was about to burst from it. Molly was the same. He narrowed his eyes at the pair, unsure what to make of them. "Hurry along now!"

The man shoved their trunks one at a time into the fireplace and sent them to Number 12. "We'll see you in a few days," Arthur assured them and shoved Harry into the fireplace. The boy didn't even have time to say goodbye before the man sent him on his way. He got a mouthful of ash and arrived choking on the other side.

"Hello, Harry," Remus greeted and pulled him from the fire before Sirius could come crashing into him.

"Moony!" Sirius pounced on the man. "What's the big idea squatting in my house?"

"Actually, it's my house," Harry grinned cheekily.

"Oi! Don't make me play the Godfather card, because I will," Sirius pointed a warning finger at him.

"Remus," a woman called from the hall. "Is that them? Are they here yet?" Even as he wondered who the woman was, Harry braced himself for the ear-splitting curses of Walburga Black's portrait.

Remus watched him and smiled. "She's gone."

"What?" Harry said and ran from the kitchen to the entrance hall. It was no longer dark and mournful. The wall where the life-sized portrait had hung was now empty and painted a welcoming yellow. The troll leg umbrella holder was gone, and a small table sat in its place. Sirius had been alone in that house for a year, suffocating under the dismal décor and memories, yet Remus had managed to make it more than livable in a few months… he didn't understand. "How did you manage it?"

"Well, it seems mad old Walburga hadn't considered that we might tear the whole wall down," Remus smiled.

Harry's eyes grew enormous at the idea of what else might have changed. Open-mouthed in awe he stumbled into every room he came across, each one was practically normal. Even the Dursleys wouldn't have been frightened to visit, although the moving paintings and photographs wouldn't have sat particularly well with them.

"Harry," Sirius approached him as he stood marveling at the pristine banister and complete lack of stuffed heads on the wall, "I want my house back."

"Remus!" the woman called from upstairs again, more insistently. "I asked if they were here yet!"

"Got a girlfriend, Moony?" Sirius smirked.

"No," the man grinned with the same mischief as Arthur had. "An old friend has been helping me clean this place up."

"Moony!" a man shouted, interrupting Harry's question before it made it to his mouth. "Answer the woman's question! Are they here yet?" The owner of the voice stomped out onto the stairs and glared down at Remus through his rectangular glasses. "Oh, damn." He ran a nervous hand through his unruly hair and smiled. "Uh… Welcome home."

"Dad?" Harry stared.

"Prongs?" Sirius grinned. "You got old!"

"James, are they here yet?" a woman asked as she stepped out from the upstairs bedroom.

"Yeah, I kind of ruined the surprise there…" James admitted bashfully. "Sorry, Moony."

Remus laughed. "I think they're surprised enough."

"They're real?" Harry said, refusing to look away or even blink. "I'm not seeing things?"

The woman hurried down the stair and wrapped him in a hug. The woman, his mother, Lily Potter, was real. As real as she had been weeks earlier when she hugged him and drank the potion. There was something different now. Before it felt like he was being hugged by a friend, now he had that same giddy feeling he remembered when Molly Weasley hugged him for the first time. This was what it was like to be hugged by his mum.

"What did you do, Moony?" Sirius slapped the man on the head. "It was that damned book again, wasn't it?"

"It was," Remus admitted. "But it wasn't me. Dumbledore."

"Old bastard should know better," the boy mumbled even as James leveled a smirk at him.

"It was done selflessly," Remus defended the decision. "We all thought it was about time Harry got the life he deserved."

"Why aren't they young as me?"

"Ah," Remus said, his professor voice firmly in place. "That is interesting."

"Is this going to be boring?" Sirius interrupted. "Should I sit down?"

Remus punched him in the arm. "Do you remember my day as Defence teacher? I don't give boring lessons." Sirius rolled his eyes and motioned for the man to go on. "We figured out that the thoughts of the person casting the spell will affect the outcome."

Sirius raised his hand and batted his lashed coyly, "I know this, Professor Lupin. When someone casts a spell to raise the dead, and they do it out of love, they will be unaffected."

"Very good, Mr Black. Ten points to Gryffindor," Remus said, adding a rude hand gesture. "May I continue? It's more than intentions; it's actual thoughts. Hermione thought about sixteen-year-old Harry and brought back you three at sixteen years old. Clever man that he is, Dumbledore managed to think about James and Lily at their proper age." He glanced over to the reunion with a warm smile. It was what Harry should have had his entire life, two parents who loved and wanted him.

"Batty old man," the boy muttered. "They'll be no saving him from turning evil. Man lost his virginity a century ago."

Remus draped an arm on the boy's shoulder, "I think we're safe. It was all for Harry."

End.


End file.
